The First
by LunarCry
Summary: UPDATED 301203! A look at FFIX's villain that is guaranteed to change your perspective about him as a character.
1. Act 0: Scene 0

**The First**   
~LunarCry~ 

**Act 0 - Concerning a Challenge   
Scene 0**

Things aren't always as they seem, you see. 

And even tales told under the god-like perspective of third-person are skewed by that god's own perceptions. 

To understand it all, you must scrutinise every angle; hear every word. 

You're all biased, of course - everyone always is. Not intentionally; the effect is subliminal, so subtle that you don't even notice. I'd wager that each and every person reading these words hasn't ever _really_ considered events as they happened completely from my point of view. Do you really think it was that easy for me? My motive so straightforward? My personality so simple to define? 

Things aren't always as they seem, you see. To me, right now, as I lie here, however, they are very clear indeed. 

So this is my last request . . . no, one finds it so easy to refuse a request, doesn't one? Very well then. Let's make it . . . 

_A dare._

A challenge, if you will. 

I challenge you, the receiver of the words that may follow, to listen with an open mind and a neutral point of view. I _dare_ you to feel the same way about what you think you know took place here once I have finished. 

You don't have to accept. I understand that you may be utterly comfortable with what you already define, however wrongly, as truth. I understand that you may be afraid to learn more, that I might prove your perceptions false. No one likes to be called a liar, after all. 

Metaphorically, then. Please form two separate crowds. To the right of the stage, the people who are happy with what they know. You'll find the exit to this tortured soul next to the souvenir stand. Those of you who want to know _everything_, take your seat on the left, and I will present to you a performance you will never forget. 

Now. 

Are you sitting comfortably? Good. I'd endeavour to make the most of it, because it assuredly won't last long. 

Curtains rise. 

Lights. 

And . . . 

_Action._


	2. Act 1: Scene 1

**Act 1 - Concerning the Birth of a Messenger   
Scene 1**

My name is Kuja. 

It was _he_ who gave me that label, told me that it meant 'son of Terra'. 

And a wretched failure like me was hardly deserving of such a name - or so he told me in a heated moment of total outrage, when I first challenged his authority and came away from the fray limping and considerably weaker than I had been when I had entered it. 

To think this all started when my strong-willed soul was, by some deranged twist of fate, dragged screaming from Pandemonium and placed inside the body I now inhabit. A body he created with his clever hands and his malicious mind. 

I was different to the others - that much I derived from the fact that they were soulless and empty, bereft of emotions and thoughts besides what they had to Learn next. But I possessed a soul, and for that I was shunned. 

Oh, the pulsing Light of Gaia was _nothing_ compared to such utter isolation! He tried to integrate me into the society of Bran Baal, but when the other Genomes did not understand me and couldn't accept me, he took it as a failure on my part. My part! I looked nothing like them and sounded nothing like them. Unlike them, I slept and ate and felt. It is the fate of any being that is different to be excluded from those who are alike. 

I once questioned Garland's idea of making my appearance that of an adult, compared to the other childlike, expressionless Genomes. 

"A Genome physically grows very little from birth to death," he informed me. "If you are to be convincing as an adult, then you must look like one. Hence," and he smiled, waving a hand to indicate my slender form, "you are as you appear." 

"But, _why_ is it necessary for me to look like an adult?" 

Garland smiled. It was one of those secretive, patronising sneers that I came to hate so intensely. 

"No child ever started a war," he said simply, and left it at that. 

*** 

Damn Garland and his stupid cryptic comments! 

I spent the first few years of my life trying to fathom my purpose in the assimilation of Gaia. Hours would fly by as I rested in the small room I called my own on the outskirts of Bran Baal, reading the few remaining texts that Garland owned, calling on the audio/visual references that stated Terra's methods of survival - absorbing other planets. Nothing seemed to fit together. 

Sick of being left in the dark, I departed from Bran Baal and travelled a long and lonely way to what had once been Terra's last library. I stayed there for many days, greedily flicking my way through ancient tome after ancient tome, and then fixing the long-disused audio/visual references and viewing them in turn. It increased my knowledge of Terra tenfold, but I was still without a clue as to my role in the way of things. 

I was 'special', that much was certain. Although Garland hated my guts, he needed me for something. Why else was I so dissimilar, so unique? The other Genomes sported loose, blond hair, while mine was a feathery silver. And they were built so differently - I was tall and slender, while they were shorter and stockier. But my duties so far were no different to those soulless Genomes': to learn the ways of Terra and prepare oneself for the acceptance of a soul. I had a soul already, and possessing one wasn't all it was cracked up to be. All it had succeeded in so far was creating antagonism between Garland and myself, and setting me apart from my fellow Genomes. 

I returned, disheartened, but not for long. Garland was waiting for me, and he was _not_ pleased. Running off into the wilderness and crawling back, he exclaimed, was _not_ becoming of a Genome. 

"But I am different!" I shrieked, finally losing my patience with my Maker. "What is my role in all of this? Why won't you tell me?" 

"You are to be my angel of death, Kuja," Garland yelled. "You will go down to Gaia and you will disrupt the cycle of souls there! _That_ . . . is . . . your . . . _purpose_!" 

Each word of his last sentence was punctuated with a bout of physical violence. I might not have crawled from the library back to Bran Baal, but I certainly crawled to my bed and slept for a long, long time. 

And then, the real work began. 

*** 

My soul, it seemed, was highly attuned to magic. As soon as Garland had me learning the ways of battle and power, I was expanding my magical vocabulary, heightening my spiritual attributes, teaching myself the different energy patterns of the many spells of this universe and studying Garland's books. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that someday I would be powerful enough to beat that manipulating, self-proclaimed god. His constant abuse and the fact that he refused to accept that I was a living thing, not just a doll or puppet to be used as he saw fit, had made me hate him with all of my being. Nothing I did was good enough for him. Even when I adapted existing spells and made my own, and drew up blueprints to improve the ship, Invincible, and even implemented them, he looked down on me. I would never be anything but a failure in his eyes. 

This only made me try harder. I became so determined to surpass Garland that I very nearly exhausted myself battling the monsters outside the village and acquiring new spells and weapons and armour from far-off locations in the old world. If I had to do as Garland deigned, then I would ravage the world of Gaia with such ferocity that even he would have to be impressed. And then, when my power reached its peak, I would take Garland down and prove to him that I was more than a vessel, more than a doll or puppet to be ordered and thrown around. I would make him see that I was a living thing, capable of choosing my own destiny! 

**End of Act 1: Scene 1 **


	3. Act 1: Scene 2

**Act 1: Scene 2**

It was very nearly the end of me when I encountered a silver dragon on one of the roads leading away from Bran Baal. As fate would have it, for once I wasn't looking for a fight to improve my skills, but nevertheless one of Terra's most infamous resident monsters attacked me from the sky. 

I'm rarely caught unawares, but that one lapse almost cost me my life. I didn't know whether the dragon was hungry or just feeling violent, but somehow I ended up with my back to empty space and the risk of a long drop into the watery void that Terra spiralled out of. 

The only reason I survived its first vicious attack was because of the Protect spell I had cast on myself in the fleeting moments between the initial appearance of the dragon and my back ending up against the proverbial wall. Somehow I dodged around the creature and onto the safety of the path, reeling with the force of the blow it had dealt me. 

It didn't stop. Not once did it stop. But I fought it to the best of my ability, until, bleeding and exhausted, I was just about ready to admit defeat. 

Then something occurred to me. If I couldn't defeat a silver dragon, then Garland was right - he was superior, and I would never beat him. 

"No!" 

The silver dragon looked surprised when I stood up, weak but willing, and regarded me with its icy gaze, a faintly admiring expression on its streamlined features. It tensed. I saw the muscles bunch up in its hind- and forelegs, straining against the silvery-green skin . . . 

And then it leapt forward. 

I did well considering that the dragon was far beyond my level of ability back then. I sidestepped the first attack, quickly drew on enough magic to hit the creature with a rending Blizzaga spell, and grinned as I heard it shriek in protest. 

But it reacted far too quickly. Its right talon swung out and slashed me from chest to abdomen. I staggered too far to the right, and found myself falling through space. 

I must have passed out on the way down. I have vague recollections of a myriad feathers swirling around me, and being plucked from my plunge by something powerful. When I woke up, the silver dragon was sat close to me, watching me with intensely whirling eyes. I knew it had saved me, but I didn't understand why. 

I was weak, and I hurriedly cast Curaga before I passed out again. The cool, soothing magic shimmered in my wounds, stitching them together. It would take a few more before I would be able to stand up, but for now I was at least conscious. 

"Why?" I croaked. 

The silver dragon blinked slowly. It was a majestic creature, graceful and lithe, one of the noblest races of Terra. 

I cried out when a voice echoed in my head. 

_"You fought on. You fought well."_

After my extensive search of the library, I had read up on Terra' flora and fauna. Silver dragons were known to be wise and loyal, but only to a select few. Since the Terrans' demise, they had become agitated, aggressive and wild, and communication from one to a creature that was not one of its own had been extremely rare even before Terra's decline. To think that I had been honoured as such . . . 

"I fought on? I fought well?" 

_"If you had given up, I would have killed you. You didn't. Now you have earned my respect."_

Respect? The actual usage of the term was certainly unfamiliar to me, Kuja, Garland's 'worthless' angel of death. 

"This is amazing . . . why did you attack me in the first place?" 

The silver dragon looked upwards, at the pulsing, swollen blue sky. _"The Light . . ."_

"Ah. I see." 

_"I needed a distraction from the pain . . ."_

I bristled at being called a distraction, but said nothing. I was hardly in a position to anger this creature. 

Thinking of my life's mission, I sighed. "Luckily for me," and my voice dripped sarcasm, "I will soon be leaving this world and its Light." 

_"You are leaving?"_ The silver dragon looked up, startled. _"When?"_

"I . . . don't know." 

The dragon was thoughtful. After a lengthy silence, it gazed at me longingly. _"In return for sparing you, I would ask that you take me with you."_

"What?" I sat up, ignoring the protests of my injuries. "I don't know if I could . . ." 

_"I would not hinder you. I shall serve you as my kind used to."_ And it executed a little, draconic bow. 

I stared. 

A silver dragon, bowing to me. 

The appreciation of my being here filled me with warmth from head to toe. A slow smile crept across my face. 

"Well, of course! I shall make sure to inform you when I leave." 

_"We shall be seeing more of each other than that, I expect."_

With that, it launched into the air, feathers flying, a silver dart in the sky, and eventually disappeared from view. 

*** 

Surprisingly enough, I did see the silver dragon more often than I had expected to. Whenever Garland infuriated me so much that I stormed from Pandemonium and into solitude, it seemed to sense my frustration and land near Bran Baal to take me far away and exhaust my anger on any nearby monsters who dared to get in my way. The dragon never helped me - it only watched. It would warn me if I threatened to exhaust myself. Garland had built up a lot of anger inside me and I could never, ever get rid of it all, not even if I killed all the monsters left on Terra. But the dragon's presence soothed me in a way I had never felt before. When I wasn't brooding around the lake in Bran Baal, or scornfully watching my fellow Genomes Learn new things, I was with the dragon. It didn't talk often, whereas I talked a lot. But it did listen to me. 

And I felt it understood. 

**End of Act 1: Scene 2**


	4. Act 1: Scene 3

**Act 1: Scene 3**

My day of condemnation came just seven years after my awakening. 

Garland summoned me to the Pandemonium, something that was not in itself unusual, but I had a bad feeling about it anyway. 

"Kuja." He still spoke my name as if I were filth. "I need you to go down to Bran Baal and fetch a Genome." 

I sneered. "A Genome? That's it? Can't you do your own dirty work, Garland? Fetch it yourself! I have better things to do!" 

"No, Kuja. You will fetch this Genome. It must be your choice." 

"What's on your twisted mind this time?" 

Garland smiled secretively. "Just do it." 

Scowling, I walked at a leisurely pace to Bran Baal. Garland would wait as long as I felt necessary. And then I realised how vague the instructions given to me had been. Fetch any Genome? There were several dozen here in Bran Baal. It had to be my choice? Why? 

"You're a fool, Garland," I hissed between my teeth, and stalked into the underground laboratory, scanning the area for available Genomes. 

This was stupid. I didn't even know what I was looking for! 

But the Genome closest to me was making my stomach queasy. There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance, and he was still as soulless as the others, but . . . 

A sense of impending doom rattled through my body. Irritably, I grabbed the Genome's arm. He turned to look at me, expression blank as ever. 

"What is it that you want?" 

"You're coming with me," I said through gritted teeth, and tried to drag the Genome up the stairs. He wouldn't budge, however. 

"Why?" he asked. 

I glared at him. "The almighty Garland commands it, is that good enough?" 

"The will of Garland is absolute. He is synonymous with air and fire and -" 

"Yes, wonderful, now hurry up!" 

He followed with no further ado. Somehow I managed to drag him into Pandemonium, though he kept stopping near each natural feature to study it and wouldn't move until I yelled at him that his precious Garland was waiting. 

"He's a pretty short specimen," was Garland's remark when I brought the Genome to him. 

"You didn't give a specification," I snapped. "What in Terra do you want him for? You never bothered with another vessel before now." 

"Ah, but today, things are going to change." 

Garland was smiling that patronising smile again. I resisted the urge to hit it. 

"Why today? What are you planning now?" 

"Kuja," he said, and started pacing. I _hated_ it when he started pacing. It was one of his habits that really annoyed me. "Kuja, soon you will have to go down to Gaia and start to disrupt the cycle. You know what to do, don't you?" 

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. Don't you think I can remember a set of instructions?" 

"That's not it." Garland stopped moving, and glared at me over his high-bridged nose. "I don't trust you, Kuja." 

"What?" Of course, he had every reason not to, but he wasn't supposed to _know_ that! 

"I've been planning this for quite some time, ever since you first questioned me. Even the Genomes know by now!" He laughed maliciously. "Kuja, you're the only one who doesn't know!" 

"_What don't I know?_" I yelled. 

"This Genome," and Garland placed a hand on its shoulder, "is to be your . . . partner." 

"I don't need a soulless partner." 

"Oh, he won't be soulless for very long!" 

My eyes widened. "You can't do that! This is _my_ task! _My_ destiny! I won't allow you to hand it to another!" 

The bright red light in Garland's chest flared, and the Genome began to breathe raggedly, collapsing to his knees. 

I leapt at my Maker. The gift of life was mine alone! I would not share it with another! I would not have him condemning me to second best! 

The spell Garland cast was so powerful that I was thrown halfway across the room by its force. Lying on the floor, my eyes wide, I began to moan. 

"You can't _do_ this to me, Garland! I can do this on my own!" 

"You?" He laughed outright. "You? Kuja, you are worthless, weak and a waste of my time! This new Named one will almost certainly be more competent than you could ever be!" 

The light faded. The Genome collapsed to the floor. I propped myself up on my elbows, feeling sick to the stomach. To be held with such little regard . . . 

I closed my eyes tightly and suppressed the tears that threatened to burst from them. I vowed _never_ to show weakness in Garland's presence. 

"Garland!" In that one cry, I incorporated every single piece of raw, bloody hatred I had for him. I wanted to swear at him, kick him, bite him even. But he still had power over me. I could moan all I liked but I couldn't stop him from walking all over me. That spiralling helplessness began to consume me, and I closed my eyes ever more tightly, wanting to throw up. Why did he torment me so? I never _asked_ to be this way! I never _asked_ him to create me! Why me? Why not some other hapless Genome, _without_ feelings and emotions that could be twisted and torn if Garland pulled too hard on his puppet's strings? 

I staggered to my feet, my vision a heated blur, and ran. 

Not until the gate leading out of Pandemonium neared did I slow down enough to breathe, but it was a shaky affair. The world glimmered, and I was back in Bran Baal on my hands and knees and quite prepared to pass out with the intensity of the emotions that whirled like bouts of fire inside me. 

_"Kuja."_

Startled, I looked up. The silver dragon was already waiting for me. I had but one thought. 

_Escape._

I ran some more, leaping onto the creature's back and willing it far, far away from Pandemonium, from Bran Baal, from Garland . . . 

The ride was uneventful. The silver dragon did not speak until we landed, so I spent the flight trembling against its body, cold and in a deep state of shock. 

The dragon landed me on a distant tower. I practically fell off its back, still shivering and numb. 

_"You are safe here."_

"I'm not," I choked. "I'm not safe anywhere. Even when I'm discarded onto Gaia, he will continue to hurt me . . ." Closing my eyes, I felt my throat begin to tighten. "He knew he didn't need another . . . he _knew_ I could do it. The only reason he forged another to be Named was to cause me more pain! I hate him! I hate him for being stronger than me and I hate myself for being unable to fight back!" 

Then the bitter tears came. 

Ashamed, I dropped my head into my arms and buried my face. 

"Garland thinks _nothing_ of me!" I sobbed. "He thinks I am useless and weak and a failure!" 

The silver dragon said nothing. Instead, it shuffled forward, and lowered its head to my height. Feathers rained down, and I glanced up to see its wings curled protectively around me. Eyes wide, I stared at it. 

"What are you doing?" And on that train of thought . . . "How did you know I wanted to get away?" 

The dragon's eyes whirled, slowly but fiercely. _"I felt your pain. I feel it now. Our minds have become more and more attuned to each other's since that first fight."_ It settled onto its belly, forepaws extended gracefully, but its wings continued to encircle me. _"I understand you."_

Well, the dragon was the only one. 

_"There will be times for strength later on,"_ it said softly, like a whisper of wind. _"But now you require comfort. And I am here for you."_

It was now so close to my tense body that its smooth hide brushed my skin. I rested my head against its lithe form, my forehead and eyes aching with stress and tears that had waited so long to break the surface of my agony. I could try all I wanted to hide it, to pretend I was strong enough to deal with it, but I was alone, I had always been alone, and I would probably always be alone. No one other than myself cared for my fate besides the silver dragon, the only creature able to understand my plight, and it wasn't even a member of my species! 

"He thinks he can break me," I said through gritted teeth. "Well, there'll come a day when I'll show all of them! Garland, the Genomes and that runt of a soul-bearer . . . they'll see exactly what a 'failure' is capable of!" 

**End of Act 1: Scene 3**


	5. Act 1: Scene 4

**Act 1: Scene 4**

So I trained. 

The focal point of my entire life over the next few years was to fight, and become stronger than Garland. Only the silver dragon prevented me from killing myself with ill-fated battles against opponents far too strong for me. There were other things I needed to do before going down to Gaia, but they would wait. My blood-thirst would not. 

Since Garland was still out of my league, I focused my anger somewhat unfairly on the Second. I blamed him for everything. But no matter what I said or did to him, he never retaliated. Perhaps he thought he was at fault, when it was really only Garland's lack of morality that had brought us both into this world. Anger and bitterness made me blind to that facet of truth. 

The fact that the Second never fought back when I scorned him made me feel even angrier. I didn't need a partner who was too cowardly to stand up for himself! But how to get rid of him without causing too much fuss . . . it was a matter I mulled over many times. I could, perhaps, leave him here at the critical moment. No, I would never slip that one past Garland. 

That was it. I had to dispose of the Second when we were no longer under Garland's restrictive influence. When we reached Gaia, I would deal with the little runt myself. 

I became so obsessed with these plans that I did not notice time flashing by with each victory in battle. The silver dragon did, however. I remember quite vividly the day it brought my progress to my attention after a particularly violent fight. 

_"Do you realise how far you have come now?"_ it asked quietly. 

"Still not far enough," I replied automatically. 

_"A year ago that monster would have killed you. Is your desire to kill Garland that strong that you would grow so much in power?"_

My desire was certainly powerful enough to do that. It had become my only purpose for living, and had consumed me completely. "Yes, it is." 

_"You could now beat me quite easily."_

That came as a shock. I regarded the silver dragon speculatively, thinking back to the battle that had brought us together for the first time. My eyes widened as I realised it was right. 

"I . . . could, couldn't I?" 

_"Yes. You have surpassed me."_

I was filled with an excitement so powerful that I trembled. "Then I'm one step closer to defeating that pompous old fool!" 

The dragon sighed. Its breath whispered across my skin, cold and real. 

_"Kuja . . . do you really think Garland would create a being capable of beating him?"_

"What do you mean?" 

_"You know what I mean. You have progressed far . . . but how much further can you go? Garland is powerful, and he is also intelligent. He would not have made it possible for you to overpower him."_

"That can't be true!" I said with a derisive sneer. But when I tried to think of an argument against it, none would come. What the dragon said made sense . . . and if it did, then the entire possibility of my revenge became non-existent. 

Or did it? 

"Perhaps," I agreed. "But what if . . . what if I could obtain a source of power capable of destroying Garland?" 

"I'm not sure . . . but there must be a way! I won't let him beat me! I will kill him, no matter what it takes." Sighing, I climbed onto the dragon's back and signalled for it to launch into the air. "The issue requires some thought . . ." 

*** 

Thinking was something I could do well. I have the innate ability to focus on a problem so intensely that everything else becomes obsolete. But time passed, and I had things to do, and they required my full attention. My ambitions were momentarily put on hold. 

Terra's Guardians of Chaos were known for their . . . unique sense of humour. There's Maliris, the six-armed serpentine guardian of Fire - basically a masochist with a payload of flames and half a dozen scimitars up her sleeves. Tiamat, guardian of Air, is apparently the most benevolent of the four creatures - he leaves out the pre-murder torture and simply kills as quickly as possible. Kraken doesn't say much, either, but those tentacles are more than decorations, and my, oh my, do they _sting_. But I suppose I detest Lich the most. I have never seen so much hatred towards everything other than oneself before . . . yes, I suppose he even beat me in that matter. 

I had been dreading the day when I would have to visit them ever since I had learned of my purpose, mainly because, for a planet's guardians, they had little respect for its inhabitants. 

Including me. 

And four against one is rarely fair. 

"Look," I groaned, staggering to my feet. "I didn't even _want_ to come here!" For some reason, Garland had forbidden the Second from joining me on this trip, not that I particularly wanted him around anyway. 

"And yet you scorn us with your petty presence anyway," Maliris sneered, juggling her scimitars between all of her hands. I watched them warily. 

"As Terra's guardians, you have a sacred duty to -" I broke off, as the first of the weapons came down beside me. Clenching my jaw, I refused to flinch. "Garland commands it. You have a job to do." 

From the darkened corner of the fractured Element Shrine, a low, chilling hiss made me grit my teeth. 

"Garland? And what has _he_ ever done for us?" 

Lich. I shuddered with disgust, suddenly wishing that I had brought the Second along on this little expedition. 

Tiamat was regarding me thoughtfully, still and silent. I couldn't even see him breathe. Kraken had already had his fun with me, and was sitting back to let Maliris have a turn, his swollen, bloated body heaving with the difficulty of breathing oxygen. The Water guardian did not do so well outside of his element. 

Still no move from Lich, and even Maliris had halted her attacks, one hand still curled around the hilt of the scimitar embedded in the stone floor to my right. The entire shrine was deathly silent, a contest of wills and of power. If all four ganged up on me again, they'd kill me for sure. 

"Can't you just make my life easier and do this for me?" I asked, my irritation bordering on pure anger. 

"Why should we make your life easier?" Maliris scowled, her tail rattling. "Ever since those stupid humans destroyed this world, our eternal lives have been worse than you can ever imagine." 

"I bet I can," I hissed between my teeth, wishing I hadn't when a burst of flame sent me diving for the floor. Lying flat on my stomach, I closed my eyes and waited for Maliris to stop cackling. "Are you quite done?" 

Maliris grinned. "Quite." 

"Then maybe I should bring this to your attention: you don't have a choice." 

Something moved in the shadows where Lich's voice came from. The guardian's rage made the flagstones ripple outwards in wide, violent circles. Even Maliris protested, but she wasn't thrown against a ragged and weathered wall like I was. 

"And what makes you think that?" Lich's voice was little more than a tremor in the air, but his outrage was very tangible. 

Damn. This angel of death thing was going to kill me if I didn't take control of the situation. 

Why does pain have to hurt so much? 

Still, I could take some small pleasure out of the inevitable reaction to my next words. 

"You retain your powers only because you serve the elements, and because Terra exists. If it is never re-established, then the four of you will slowly diminish." 

Tiamat moved. Finally. "Not true. We are immortal." 

I ached all over. The wall I had been crushed against was not particularly flat. But, nevertheless, I smiled. "For how long?" 

Then Lich grew angry. His skeletal figure flew out of the shadows, giving me no time to dodge his large hand. It encircled my arms and torso and rammed me back against the wall. Again. 

Oh, the joys of being a lackey. 

"Impertinent creature!" Lich said. Once again, I felt his hiss of a voice run through me like a rusty saw. "This will not happen!" 

"Killing me won't make it change," I said defiantly, but it is extremely difficult to look defiant when you're being dwarfed by a hand as big as your torso. Even harder when that same hand is pressing you against a slab of stone so hard that cracks are beginning to form on the solid surface. The first tendrils of cold fear whispered in the depths of my soul. "Your powers were granted to serve Terra alone. If you neglect your duty you will lose them!" 

"But if we go down to Gaia, we will lose our immortality," Kraken burbled. 

"Lich, stop it," Tiamat said softly. Or, at least, as softly as gravel can sound. 

"Why?" 

They backed down. Even the other guardians feared Lich. I suppose I did, too. I feared anything with the power to crush me in one palm. 

Everyone had a superiority complex when they were around me. It occurred to me, as bright lights began to burst in my vision, that _everyone_ looked down on me. Garland, the silver dragon at first, even the thoughtless Genomes, who knew _nothing_. I was sick and tired of being treated like a worthless puppet. Any creature with a will of its own would fight oppression, and I was no different. All that training, all that fighting . . . what good was it if I died right here? 

"I'd rather stay here and _rot_," Lich spat, his eye sockets glowing with a pure and magnificent rage, "than make things easier for these pitiful specimens." 

"You have to . . ." My ribcage was beginning to creak under the pressure. 

"We don't." The earth guardian's tone portrayed his disgust. "Do you have to? You have a choice too, don't you realise? Pawns may have limited resources but they are still there, insolent mammal! Have you already made your choice? Have you submitted? _Weak_! That's all that you are! All you ever will be!" 

By the _Gods_ did that hurt, more than anything physical he could have done. Would it . . . always be this way? Kuja, the powerless pawn, the easily manipulated puppet? 

I wasn't even aware of releasing the spell until I found myself sat on the floor, hunched over with my head dropped between my shoulders, panting with the exertion. 

It was the first time I ever used Ultima. 

Garland had given me the rare and precious Terran stone soon after my awareness of my purpose. I had drawn the runes from within the object, committing the mysteriously complex patterns of magic to memory and spirit. But I had knocked myself unconscious every single time I had tried to manifest the spell. I had presumed I was still not powerful enough for it. 

Looking around a devastated room of debris and rubble, and four startled guardians, I tried to figure out what other spell could have done so much damage. Ultima was the only one that came to mind. 

Very slowly, I climbed to my feet. Power pulsed through me. I didn't know what source of energy I was drawing from, but it rippled through me and radiated around me, an almost visible aura of chaos and vigour. 

"You _will_ go down to Gaia," I said, very calmly and very quietly. "You _will_ do as I say. Is that understood?" 

"Your day of reckoning will come, mortal," Tiamat whispered, but began to make his way outside. The others followed. Only Lich hesitated - and even then only briefly - staring at me with those dead and empty sockets. 

So _this_ was what superiority felt like. This was how it felt to govern by fear. To have people look up to you in frightful admiration . . . Garland experienced this all the time. The manipulative bastard. Well, now I had the upper hand. Ultima . . . it would be my salvation. When the time came . . . 

The guardians slunk out of the shrine. When I finally exited myself, they were gone, presumably to Gaia, and the silver dragon was waiting for me. Its eyes whirled when it saw me - I couldn't tell whether it was through admiration, pride or concern, and I didn't ask. I simply mounted. 

_"That spell . . . it would surely beat Garland,"_ the creature said tentatively. 

"I'm certain it would . . . but I can't remember where I found the energy to cast it." 

_"Kuja . . ."_

"What is it?" 

_" . . . Nothing."_

Slightly puzzled by that display of uncertainty, I decided it was best to say nothing. The silver dragon seemed to look at me differently than before. Concern was rampant in its mental tones. But why? What did it have to be concerned about? 

I landed some distance away from Bran Baal - no one yet knew about my partnership with a silver dragon and I intended to keep it that way. The Genomes kept their distance, too. I could still feel the power lapping against my skin, a resource that begged to be used. But I currently had no purpose for it, and tried my best to ignore it. 

I headed towards the room I now shared with the Second. The other Genomes did not need to rest, but we did, and so in _my_ room was the only bed in Bran Baal, and I was expected to share? I didn't think so. The little runt had stolen my purpose - he wouldn't steal my scant few possessions as well. 

The Second was sitting on a stool, flipping through one of the books from the shelf. I was about to reprimand him for even _daring_ to touch my things, but as quickly as the power had come to me, I felt it leave. It left a great void around me that was quickly filled with something else, and it made me stagger against the doorframe. 

"Kuja!" The Second was on his feet instantly. "Are you all right?" 

"What do you care?" 

But the pain distorted my hearing and vision. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. Before I had cast Ultima . . . what had Lich done to me? How hard had he . . . 

The answer came with my next breath. Serrated agony lashed through my ribcage. I would _not_ cry out in front of the Second, I would _not_ - 

I coughed instead, a rattling cough that shook my senses and made me dizzy. When I lowered my hand from my mouth, I narrowed my eyes weakly at the Second. His own were wide with fear - for me! The fool . . . 

"What?" I snapped hoarsely. 

Wordlessly, he took my hand and flashed the palm in front of my face. Little red droplets spattered it. 

Blood. 

No wonder the silver dragon had been concerned! I cast a dispassionate glance at the rest of me - the power had disguised the fact that I was badly hurt. How could I not have noticed? And without the energy for a restorative spell . . . the Second was not prone to magic, as I was, and even if he had been, I would not have accepted an offer of help. 

Not from him. 

A second cough shook my slender frame violently. More blood. I somehow made my way over to the bed, wheezing with pain and despair. The Second was panicking. 

"Kuja! Wait here, I'll be right back!" 

"Don't bother returning!" I tried to yell, but my chest throbbed where my ribs were undoubtedly broken. Where was the blood coming from? If I had pierced a lung . . . 

I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow and trying desperately to smother the coughing fits I was racked with. Several minutes passed before the Second reappeared, juggling a number of brightly coloured flasks of glowing liquids. He dropped most of them on a desk and dug through the pile, grabbing several bottles and approaching the bed. 

"Here, Kuja, drink -" 

"Get away! I neither want your help nor need it!" 

He looked hurt, but his expression was firm. "You may not want my help, but you certainly need it." 

"Just leave me alone, you insolent thief!" 

The Second blinked. "Thief? What do you -" 

"You've stolen _everything_ from me! My _birthright_ is to accomplish this mission! I never wanted you, I never _needed_ you!" I broke off with a groan, curling up on the bed and hugging my chest tightly. "I _hate_ you and I _hate_ Garland and I _hate_ this forsaken wilderness! Just let me die in peace!" 

I was quite ready to do so, I realised afterwards. It wasn't just the heat of the moment, or my stubbornness. The power I had glimpsed was enough to defeat Garland, but I couldn't even use it properly! That insane despair was enough to make me feel like giving up. 

The Second did back off. But he sat at the end of the bed, patient and vigilant. 

"Why?" I whispered softly. "What will you gain from aiding me?" 

The Second regarded me sadly. "You don't need a reason to help someone, Kuja." 

At some point in the midst of my harsh breathing, I must have passed out, because the next time I was aware . . . 

Voices. Two of them. 

The Second and . . . _him_. 

"But . . . Garland . . . can't you just -" 

"No." 

Why had the Second called _him_? My head swam in a sea of agony, vistas of harsh black and vibrant vermilion floating in the darkness of my vision. I tried my hardest to remain still. 

"Just _one_ little Cure spell . . . would it hurt you that much?" 

"I don't owe this little runt a thing. Besides . . . I don't think he would appreciate being healed by the person he despises most." 

"He won't know!" There was desperation in the Second's voice. "I'll tell him . . . I'll tell him I used potions." 

"You would take the fall?" Garland laughed. The noise was painful. 

"Why? He treats you like dirt and yet you still respect him? No, don't answer. I don't want to know, for the reason is surely perverse." 

Silence reigned. My heavy breathing was getting steadily worse. Then the Second whispered: "Why won't you help him?" 

"I can't believe it hasn't occurred to you or him that I could quite easily have 'persuaded' the guardians to go down to Gaia on my own." 

"What do you mean?" 

"If I had gone myself, they would not have attacked, because I could have beaten them. But I sent Kuja, because I knew they outnumbered and overpowered him." 

"You . . . were testing him?" 

"No, you idiot! I wanted him _dead_!" 

Ice rushed through my veins. It shouldn't have come as any sort of surprise, now that I think about it. Garland hated me. I hated him. But . . . was I really that dispensable? Wasn't I worth even one Cure spell? Was the Second so superior to me? 

"But . . ." the Second stammered. "You created him! This is his task -" 

"I don't need him. You will do the trick, I think. Though your appearance isn't as startling, you will be better than he ever would have been." 

"He tried so hard . . ." 

"Kuja deserves only death. He would betray his purpose because of his hatred towards me, and that is unforgivable. Inform me when he finally dies. Good day to you, the Second." 

Garland's presence faded, and I instantly tried to sit up. 

"Kuja!" The Second ran around to the side of the bed, his eyes wide with concern. "Did you . . . hear it all?" 

"It's no big surprise," I croaked, the sentence a half-lie, and rolled over onto my back when my arms wouldn't seem to function properly. "I never really expected much else. Not from Mr. Self-Proclaimed God and his little thieving angel of death." 

The Second winced visibly. 

"Hurry," I snapped, clicking my fingers at the same time. "Pass me a potion!" 

He did so, staring at me, zombie-like, while I yanked the cork out of the flask and proceeded to swallow its contents. 

"But . . . I thought you had given up." 

I snatched an ether from his hands, gulping it down and half-choking on it when my injuries protested. That Ultima spell had drained my spiritual resources far beyond a safe limit. 

" . . . Damned if I'm going to let Garland have his way," I hissed, and drank restorative potion after potion, until any more would have had no effect. Finally, I slept again, and dreamt of sweet, sweet revenge. 

**End of Act 1: Scene 4**


	6. Act 1: Scene 5

**Act 1: Scene 5**

To Garland's intense disgust, I eventually recovered, but it was a slow process, as casting healing magic on myself would have defeated the object by weakening me further. So I was forced to rely on potions. Though I hated the fact that the Second was prepared to run backwards and forwards to the small storeroom in Bran Baal, I could not do it myself and was forced to accept his help. 

That he stayed around me at all irritated me intensely. He was one person I could not understand. Garland had a motive and used it; my own motive was my eventual revenge on my Maker, but the Second . . . I could not fathom his reasons for enduring my taunts and hatred at all. And I disliked being unable to interpret his thoughts. 

During my convalescence, I had much time to mull over what was left to do before my journey down to Gaia. The Guardians of Chaos had left, apparently, each driven to his or her own shrine down below. When I finally breached the barrier and entered the planet's atmosphere for myself, they would act as protection in conjunction with the seal, preventing both unwanted visitors into Terra and direct interference from Garland. 

The four Mirrors were ready to be stowed away to activate the seal. I would have to find a suitable place to store them, close to the island where Terra and Gaia were currently linked, but unreachable by ordinary means, so the seal would not be easily broken. 

There wasn't much left to do, and I would have to make the drop soon if I wanted enough time to research the ways of Gaia from the planet itself. There was a library down there I wanted to visit for that very purpose. In essence, there was very little else I could do from here. It was time to put forward to Garland the proposition that I was ready. Finally, I could put my own plans into action, and begin taking control of my own life. 

It was some time before I was able to even tell Garland this, but as he saw no reason why I couldn't proceed, he didn't deny me the opportunity. I had been in existence for only eleven years, but the time had already come, and I welcome it with open arms. 

And so I stood by the teleporter that would take me up into the magnificent Invincible, a ship created by the old lords of Terra for the accumulation of souls, waiting for the Second to join me. For the first time since my awakening, I was taking things into my own hands. Once I reached Gaia, my actions would be my own, and I would discreetly discover a way to preserve my soul before Terra and Gaia became one and my identity lost. 

The Second was taking too long. 

Impatiently, I began to tap one foot. The silver dragon's presence distracted me from this pose, and I turned to face it. 

_"How should I follow?"_ it asked. 

"Terra's void will be opened for the Invincible's safe passage," I informed him. "I want you to follow close behind. _Don't_ get lost! Just follow. I will have need of you shortly after we emerge into Gaia's atmosphere." 

The dragon bobbed its head, before flinging itself over the side and down out of sight. Obviously, it would wait for me. 

But I was growing impatient. 

"The Second!" I snapped loudly. 

"I'm coming!" a voice cried, and I looked back to see him running agilely towards the teleporter. 

"Well, you took your time," I said acidly when he joined me. 

"I had some . . . unfinished business to take care of." 

"Never mind that now." I held in my arms the four mirrors, and they were heavier than they looked. "Are you coming to Gaia or not?" 

"Of course!" 

I scowled at him, and stepped onto the teleporter. The world shimmered and blurred, and then the cosy darkness of the ship, Invincible, enveloped me. It wasn't my first time inside, but I still admired the work that had gone into it, the sheer beauty of its construction. Ships and marvels of engineering were one of my few idiosyncrasies. 

It was the Second's first time, though, a fact that was apparent from his wide-eyed expression and the way he stared at the interior of the airship. 

I wasted no time on him, stalking instead to the cockpit and placing the mirrors carefully on the floor. They crackled with magic when they were so close together, and I didn't want them interfering with the Invincible's systems, so I separated them slightly. 

And, finally, we could leave. It seemed so simple. Something I had worked eleven years at, and I'd be off with a simple thought-command. Many of those eleven years had been spent tuning my mind to the waves of the Invincible, so that I would be able to command it even from the ground, but I had yet to practise. 

Stepping onto the glowing platform and gazing out through the vast front screen, I matched my thoughts with the Invincible's and commanded it to take off. When it did as I asked, I couldn't help but smile. 

"I could get to like this." 

The Second walked into the room. Though my back was to him, my mind was currently with the Invincible, and I could feel his footsteps. 

"The Eye is amazing . . . it gathers the souls, correct?" 

"Yes." I wasn't surprised to discover that the Second had been doing his homework. 

And then we breached the void. The ship floated, weightless, but I drove it onwards. All that was visible through the screen was liquid light, streaming and endless. I heard the Second catch his breath in awe, and smiled secretively. He would never see the void again, and I would make sure of it. 

From the chaos of the void, the Invincible arose and met pure, clear skies, devoid of the Light and so beautifully clean that I sighed in admiration. I felt an echo of the silver dragon in my mind, and was extremely glad that it had succeeded in crossing worlds with me. The Second didn't know this, however. For a long moment, I kept the Invincible hovering over the Shimmering Island. As soon as those mirrors were in place, it would shimmer no more with Terra's escaping light, but, for now, there were more pressing matters. 

On the western horizon, towards the inhabited continent of the planet, the skies were dark with storms and punctuated with lightning and patches of darker colours. 

Rain. 

Terra had no rain. Its water couldn't flow, and so this was the first time I had ever witnessed the phenomenon. 

Grinning maliciously, I steered the Invincible towards that location. The speed with which the ship moved impressed even me, and we were there within only a short period of time. 

I could see that the Second was puzzled by my behaviour even before he spoke up about it. 

"Kuja, we need to find a remote place to -" 

"Yes, I am _well_ aware of that and I do _not_ need _you_ to tell _me_ how to do _my_ job. Understood?" 

"But, then, where are we going?" 

The Invincible somehow remained stable, despite the intensity of the weather. The silver dragon's complaints at my choice of location were so audible in my head that I worried the Second might hear them. But it wouldn't matter anymore if he did! 

"Come with me," I ordered, and left the controls, strolling down onto the bridge where the teleporter was now deactivated. Another teleporter needed to be in range for a person to reach a suitable destination; otherwise they would just be deposited directly below the ship itself. Fortunately, this worked in favour of my plan. 

As we approached it, it whirred into life, the circular pad humming vibrantly. The Second glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in question. 

"This is the first step," I said coldly. "It's time to get rid of the excess baggage." 

"What excess . . ." And then the way I looked at him seemed to penetrate. His eyes widened. "Kuja, you can't -" 

My hand flew from my side and my inches in height over my unwitting rival served as an advantage as I made a grab for him. The Second was, however, extremely fast. All I caught was the collar of his Genome uniform, and his movement threw me off balance. 

We both tumbled onto the teleporter. Mere seconds later, we were both in the air above the sickly, churning grey ocean, surrounded by the thick Mist this continent was renowned for. We didn't begin to fall until the teleporter's drag released us fully. 

"Silver dragon!" I yelled as soon as the pull of gravity caused us to plummet towards the thrashing sea. The Second's face was filled with surprise more than fear, perhaps at my ultimate betrayal to him. But what did I owe this thief? Nothing, that's what! 

A feathery silvery-green shape plunged down from above the Invincible's shadow, and I made a grab for it, managing to haul myself onto the dragon's back. Then I watched as the Second disappeared into the Mist below, and further still, the violent waves. Considering the possibility of surviving a fall from such a great height, plus the added factors of the Mist, because breathing stagnant souls isn't good for you, and that the ocean itself would probably drown a person with its current hostility, didn't seem worth it. 

I became aware of the rain, then. Cool and refreshing, it pattered against my skin, and I relished the sensation. I suppose it was from that moment that I associated such precipitation with success. 

Smiling at the completion of the first phase of my revenge, I commanded the silver dragon to return me to the Invincible, whereupon my real work began. 

**End of Act 1**


	7. Act 2: Scene 1

**Act 2 - Concerning the Arts of War   
Scene 1**

"There," I said, slotting the Earth mirror into the final hole on the map. My magic was turning out to be incredibly useful - branding the surface of this wall from a time long past had been a map of Gaia, and all I had needed to do was gouge out the four circular depressions and the tracks connecting them all together, and . . . ta-da! A reminder of the shrine locations and a fitting place for the seal all rolled into one. 

"Are you sure the seal will be safe here?" Taharka asked gruffly. 

I smiled. It would seem that Gaia had a whole host of creatures I could bend to my will if I so wished it, and Taharka had been no exception. But, his question was valid. I nodded confidently at the floating monster. 

"Even if someone should, by chance, rediscover this continent _or_ its lost building, I doubt they will be able to fight their way to the top. Whoever built this castle obviously didn't want anyone to get very far inside." I grimaced. Planets often had magical 'hotspots', but this place was ridiculous. There had been a complete reversal of natural physics here. The monsters it held had fortunately posed no problems for me. But it wasn't as if the place had anything to hide. I was pretty sure I had scoured every inch of it, and had come up with nothing valuable. "And if they should reach this point, then _you'll_ be here to stop them getting any further, won't you?" 

Taharka grumbled, curling in on itself defensively. "Yes, master." 

"Good. I'll leave you to it, shall I?" 

I had further reassurances than the semi-powerful Taharka. Even if the mirrors were recovered, the seal wouldn't open until they had been placed inside their respective shrines - a problem for anyone because of the four Chaos guardians brooding in their places of choice. There was only one thing I disliked about making Terra so inaccessible: when the time came for my revenge, the seal would be, for lack of a better phrase, an absolute _bitch_ to open back up. 

Ah, well, I'd deal with that when I came back to it. 

"One task down," was my greeting to the silver dragon as I emerged from the castle. The Invincible was already waiting for me in the upper reaches of the planet's atmosphere, and . . . 

I glanced at my escort, a slight smile on my face. 

Its eyes were closed and it wore an expression of extreme pleasure. 

"You are enjoying the climate, my friend?" The Mist wasn't nearly as thick over this side of the world, and the sun was warm, heating the rocks underfoot. 

_"I find Gaia's weather quite pleasant."_

"I'm inclined to agree with you." Anything over the nauseating Light, stagnant water and sterile air of my home world. Although Gaia was, in fact, the origin of the Light, it was not visible to any of my senses while I was actually on the planet's surface. 

_"What is your next task?"_

"One that you will find quite boring, I'm afraid," I said sadly. "I have a _lot_ of research to do. Garland told me of a library I can use for that purpose. I would ask you to convey me there, Silver Dragon, and then I shall leave you to your own devices." 

_"For good?"_ I couldn't tell whether it was pleased at that proposition or saddened by it. From the slow whirling of its blue eyes, my thoughts preferred the latter. 

"No, not quite. There is still much to be done, but this will take some time." With ease of practice, I vaulted to the dragon's back. "We go to Daguerreo at once." 

*** 

I was quite impressed with the library that Gaia had to offer me. Terra's was large, but this one, while lacking in audio-visual references, was vast. One could traverse its watery pathways and find anything desired, watery because of a great dragon god's influence on the mountain retreat. 

So it was that I found myself standing at the entrance of cavernous Daguerreo, the Lost Library. Considering that the place was apparently 'lost', there were many people here - scribes, wise men and, indeed, wise women, mages, scholars and thrill-seeking treasure hunters. As I viewed the walls of the Library, shelf after shelf of every book probably ever written on Gaia, I realised how daunting my task actually was. There were no librarians in Daguerreo; the texts weren't arranged particularly well, often mixed with inappropriate subject matter. Scouring this readers' haven for what I needed could well take _years_. I doubted that I could have read everything I'd have liked before I died of old age . . . or Terra reclaimed my soul and gave it to an awakened human who didn't deserve it. 

My soul . . . _mine_. 

There were no references to Gaia in Terra's library, besides a scientific analysis of the planet and its suitability for absorption. That meant I'd be starting from scratch. 

It was a good job I so enjoyed reading, otherwise I'd have given up right there and then. Even the Second's help would have been beneficial for this part of my mission - no. I didn't need the Second, and besides, he was about as active as the rest of Garland's race right now. 

Gaia's language had been a necessary part of my Learning as a Genome, so I would have no trouble deciphering the many texts. It was good job, as much of what I eventually scanned was nearly illegible. Did all wise men have crabby handwriting? 

It wasn't even as though I had a predetermined list to work from - all I had was my own initiative. But there were key things I needed to learn, and needed to learn fast. 

I had to disrupt the cycle of souls of this planet. Part of that had already been accomplished before my existence had even been thought of. _My_ job was to increase the destruction on Gaia, no mean feat to accomplish. No extraordinary numbers of deaths meant not enough souls being released, and I had to remedy that. And the best method of bringing about destruction? 

War. 

Logically, I realised that I could barely start a grand-scale war on my little lonesome. Even if I did, the only ideas I could think of would have everyone ganging up against me alone. No, that wasn't a good idea at all, and not very practical besides. To create a decent feud, I would have to get in with the top brass, so to speak. 

So, first item on the agenda: Gaia's social history, up to and including the current state of affairs. 

Secondly, I needed to be on the victorious side, however short-lived that side might be after Garland was through with it. For this, I needed a weapon that would ensure a win. And Gaia's most powerful force was just sitting there, waiting for me, practically _begging_ to be harnessed on a more magnificent scale. 

That energy was magic. A slightly vague topic, but a starting point nonetheless. But magic would come second. Until then, there was an entire wall with my name on it, dedicated to _The History of Gaia: Volumes I_ to . . . do numerals even go up that far?! 

I remember quite clearly selecting the first tome of that series with a somewhat gloomy countenance, brushing dust from its weathered surface, finding a seat on a nearby stack of sturdy geography books, and beginning to read. 

*** 

It took me many, many months to complete that section of my research. Somehow I managed to scrounge paper and writing materials from the wizened old Gaian in the expensive synthesis shop, and my notes were nothing if not extensive. While the dry rations I had taken from the Invincible's stores didn't exactly inspire the taste buds, I had little time to enjoy what I ate had they been gourmet meals. I defeated my frequent bouts of writer's cramp by leaving the Library occasionally and venturing down the mountainside, fighting and destroying the impressive Grand Dragons that often came lumbering my way. They made excellent opportunities to flex my tense muscles after so long hunched over musty pages, and also made good practice for my future . . . that was, the part that consisted of exacting my revenge on Garland. 

By the end, I had a sheaf of notes so thick I could have written my own series of books in my peculiar curling, butterfly-style shorthand. Luckily, I had a good memory so I didn't expect to have to refer to them much. They were just a precaution. 

So now I knew about Gaia's social and political situation. And that meant I could get onto the subject my stomach churned in anticipation at: magic. To think, an entire new world with entirely new magical boundaries! I had become so accustomed to Terra's that it had grown to be almost boring by the end, but I had a fresh playground to take my fancy. 

Hefting my notes in both arms, I made my way towards the magic section of the Library. 

And there, I encountered my first Gaian. 

Although many people had wandered past and even perused the same shelves as me in my studies of Gaia's history, none had spoken to me. Indeed, I had been so enthralled in my work that I probably wouldn't have heard them if they had. It's no surprise then, that after sighing at the size of the 'Books of Magic' category and skimming the closest shelf with quick fingers, I jumped at hearing a voice that appeared to be addressing _me_. 

"You've been busy," were the words it spoke. 

I blinked, turning slowly to look at whoever had felt the need to converse with me. A red mage was sitting on the floor against the balcony railings, surrounded by several dozen volumes of _The Element of Fire_ series. Her crimson clothing was creased and dusty, and I assumed she had been here a long time. I couldn't see her eyes beneath that peaked hat, but I could feel them focused quite intensely on me. Well, not at me, but at the notes I was clinging to with my right hand. 

I hadn't noticed her there before. Nor had I spoken with a Gaian yet. 

"Too much writing and reading toasted your tongue, eh?" She yawned, stretching, and tipped her hat back, revealing a pair of rather beautiful blue eyes that contrasted starkly with her deeply ebony hair, cropped short and braided in several places with silver thread. "I know how you feel. You've been here as long as me, haven't you? I saw you when I arrived." 

All red mages looked alike to me. Overcoming my initial numbness at being noticed at all, I coughed. "I've been here for . . . thirteen months, nearly fourteen now." By the gods, had a year really passed so fleetingly? 

"Tiring, isn't it? All this reading?" 

"You don't like to read?" I was shocked. Reading had been the only thing I had enjoyed on Terra. 

"Oh, no, I like reading." She scowled then. "Just not this extensively. My name is Faowri, by the way. I extend my warmest greetings to you, stranger." 

"I am Kuja," I responded, and then wondered if perhaps I should have chosen a pseudonym for my destructive work. I didn't want any kind of reputation, good or bad, just yet. "You are a red mage, correct?" 

"Yes. That's about right." Faowri shifted a little and winced, her back cracking so loudly that it echoed throughout the Library. "Ye gods, how long have I been sat here?" Hopping to her feet, she stretched herself along the banister, groaning with relief. "Ack, my ass has gone numb again." 

"Fascinating," I said with a smirk. "Why go through this at all? Are you searching for anything important?" 

Faowri studied me carefully. "Would you like me to ask you the same thing?" 

"No," was my solid reply. 

"Ah, secret agendas, eh?" She grinned, removing her hat completely and running a gloved hand through her hair. "You gotta love 'em. If you really want to know, I'm studying the Elements." 

"That much I gathered." 

"It's part of advanced training for a red mage," she said, as though I should have known that already. Truth was I knew that she was a red mage and that red mages struck a compromise between black and white magic, and that was about it. 

"Of course." Something was nagging at me. I had seen red mages aplenty here, and a few of the now rare white mages, but no black ones. If there were white and red mages, I automatically assumed there would be black ones to balance it out. I longed to ask this Faowri about it, but I couldn't appear overly ignorant of Gaia's unwritten laws. 

Subtlety wasn't a part of my nature in general. I had a flair for the dramatic. But, nonetheless, the answer to this question undoubtedly lay before me, whereas if I missed the opportunity, I would have to dig through the shelves of books for it, a tiresome task. "Tell me, why do black mages not study here?" 

Faowri glanced at me sharply. I could tell that I had made a mistake somewhere, but I kept my expression blank. 

"Black mages? There are no black mages." 

"Forgive me," I covered with a smile and a delicate bow. "I have been away for a long time on a distant continent and the workings of the rest of the world sometimes escape me." 

"Really?" She regarded me coolly. I had a feeling that explanation had not been satisfactory, but I hardly had the time to worry about it. 

"Yes, I was researching the nature of the Forgotten Continent." Not a complete lie - I was strangely pleased by that fact. 

That seemed to peak her interest. Faowri raised both eyebrows. "For how long?" 

"Oh, long enough to fall behind," I said, waving a hand irritably. "Tell me, why no black mages?" 

Faowri pursed her lips, and bent over to scoop up some of her books. "A mage has to be in complete harmony with the magic he or she uses. None of the races on this planet are capable of bearing such utterly destructive spirits, so they can't fully devote themselves to black magic in its pure form. White mages are attuned to white magic, the life energies, and red mages assume a combination of both black and white, but you'd have to be . . . immoral or ill-spirited to become a black mage." 

"Ah, I see." An idea began to whir in my head. Distractedly, I nodded at the shelves. "As you can probably tell, I'm not all that knowledgeable about things magical, a problem I aim to rectify right now." 

"You're going to read them all?" Faowri goggled. 

"Quite possibly." I couldn't keep the weariness from my voice. 

"You want to start from the beginning?" She smiled. "I could give you some recommendations." 

"I would be most grateful, dear lady." 

Still smiling, Faowri took the quill from my hand and I offered her a fresh sheet of paper. She began to scribble down various names and writers. "These helped me through my mentor's torturous exams," the mage grinned, and passed the sheet and quill back to me. 

"Thank you very much." I nodded my head at her. "You're leaving now, then?" 

"By the gods, no!" Faowri sighed. "I've nearly finished my reading on Fire . . . then I have to deal with the other three Elements . . ." 

"Looks like we'll have a long while to chat, then," I said wryly, and, scanning the first name on the list she had given me, bent to the lowest shelves and searched for it. "Gods, this place needs a librarian. A's . . . A's . . . Wait a minute, what's this?" 

Faowri looked at the book my finger rested lightly on. 

"Literature," she scowled. "Not very magical at all. You'd think people would put the books back where they found them!" 

"Literature . . ." I repeated slowly, pulling the book from its tight slot and flipping it over in my hands. " 'A Collection of Plays by the Great Lord Avon'?" 

"You haven't heard of him, I'll bet," Faowri laughed. "He's a famous playwright, arguably the greatest in history. Alexandrian, you know. One of the old Queens made him a Lord after he wrote his best one. I think it was called 'I Want To Be Your Canary'." 

I blinked. Had I even the slightest idea what a 'play' was, I would have responded more effectively. 

"Are you okay there, Kuja?" Faowri asked, waving a hand in front of my face. "You look a little spaced out. Maybe you should take a break?" 

"Good idea," I said, nodding, and patted the book. "I'm going to grab something more refreshing than rations. Do you want anything?" 

"I'll take a cold drink, please." She had resettled on the floor, adjusting her clothes around her, and was cross-legged, a heavy book in her lap with a leather bookmark in it. The mage was just opening the volume to the page it had marked as I moved off. 

"I'm going to return this to the literature section," I added. She fluttered a hand in acknowledgement. 

To my utmost surprise, the literature area was three times as large as the magic one. Unaware that my mouth was open, I walked down between the dusty bookshelves, glancing at the titles on the spines of the tomes I passed. Stories? Novels? More of these mysterious 'plays'? What purpose did they hold, if not to teach? 

The Great Lord Avon had an entire bookshelf devoted to him. Half of the books on it were his actual plays, and the other half consisted of analyses of his work and dedications. 

_The Nature of Literature_ was a title that caught my eye. A slim book, it wouldn't take me long to read. Intrigued, I pulled it from the shelf, tucking it under my arm carefully. I had a feeling I'd return to this place often. 

Still carrying the collection of Lord Avon's plays with me, I hurried off to the nearest item store. Terra was full of stones that were in abundance and thus no longer precious in that economy, but aquamarine was apparently quite valuable in Daguerreo. Good for me, since I'd had the Invincible loaded to the gills with the stuff to use for bartering. 

Two drinks and a selection of fresh food in my arms, I cantered off back to the magic section. 

"I thought you were taking the literature book back," the red mage grinned, nodding thanks for the refreshment. "Instead you return with more than you started!" 

"I just wanted something to read in my break." 

"Your break is supposed to be _from_ reading! Ah, each to his own, I guess. At least it's literature and not linear equations or something." 

"Linear equations are far too easy," I said with a snort, sipping at my drink and flipping to the first page of _The Nature of Literature_. 

Faowri laughed. "Whatever you say, my friend. Whatever you say." 

**End of Act 2: Scene 2**


	8. Act 2: Scene 2

**Act 2: Scene 2**

Literature. 

Never had a word held so much interest to me. I stayed awake for much of that night, and had finished _The Nature of Literature_ by early morning. To think that people actually wrote imaginary stories, purely for entertainment! Every book I had ever read had been explanatory, a teaching aid and nothing more. So this . . . this literature . . . was something entirely new to me. 

But it wasn't so much the novels that fascinated me. _The Nature of Literature_ was only half devoted to them. The other half focused on theatre. 

The entire concept enraptured me. Pictures of extravagant costumes, swirling dancers, magnificent and imaginative sets were all that my dreams consisted of when I finally fell asleep. From then on, I spent my breaks selecting choice example of plays from the literature section, devouring them hungrily with my eyes at night. 

I think I know why the idea held so much attraction for me. I had spent the first part of my life being ignored and scorned and betrayed. I _wanted_ desperately to be noticed. And theatre was all about dramatics, something that I appreciated in full, something that would give me the attention I so desired. 

The wonderfully emotive plays themselves were only the first step. Faowri thought I had gone insane when I returned from the literature section one night with a pile of _Theatrical Costume_ books. 

"You're really into that stuff, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I suppose I am." I grinned. Faowri had made for surprisingly pleasant company so far. She spoke to me without condescension, without hatred, without scorn, and these qualities had been directed at me for as long as I could remember, so the cynical red mage was a refreshing change. 

If I was startled to see that my notes began to be bordered by random costume designs, Faowri wasn't. 

"No offence, but your uniform is a little dull. I often fancy a change, too, from these dratted robes." 

She was referring to my Genome uniform. It was monotonous and practical, and I had never liked it. Thoughts of replacing it were suddenly at the forefront of my mind. "Yes, it is rather, isn't it?" 

"There's a good tailor in Treno," she advised brightly. "I'm sure you'll find something more suited to your dramatic tastes there, my friend." 

"How do you know I'm so dramatic?" 

"Well, you talk in your sleep, did you know that?" 

Darn. I hoped I hadn't said anything . . . indiscreet. 

"All quotes from Lord Avon's plays," she grinned maliciously. "And you act pretty well, even in your sleep, you know." 

I was acting better than she thought if she'd bought every lie I'd been forced to tell her. Suppressing a smile, I pretended interest. 

"Really?" 

"Hey, Kuja. Can I ask you something?" 

"Depends what it is." 

"Well, where do you come from? I've never seen anyone quite like you before. And that tail . . . you're just . . . unusual, you know?" 

Scowling, I glanced backwards at my furry appendage. Never had I hated a part of myself so much as that damned tail. It reminded me of my origins every chance it got. 

"I don't know," I said softly. "I was raised by kind people on a continent far from that of the Mist. They found me as a child." 

Faowri's expression was very sympathetic. This acting thing was quite fun - with it, I could manipulate people the way Garland had manipulated me. Who did he think he was? He should never have been granted the power to give life; that power belonged to Fate and Creation alone . . . 

I gasped. The red mage shot me a concerned look. 

"What is it?" 

"Nothing," I lied. 

Actually, I had received a very good idea . . . 

*** 

Black magic was the most destructive force in the known universe. Therefore, it would make the perfect weapon to make the side I chose to be on victorious. But no current race existed on Gaia that could attune itself to the violent behaviour of such dark energy. 

However, I could improvise. What if I _created_ a species capable of harbouring such destruction? I could simultaneously show Garland exactly how intelligent I was and give life the way he did so thoughtlessly. Irony was a term I was now incredibly familiar with, thanks to the literature I had been reading, and it would be most ironical for me to perfect Garland's own technique and prove that he wasn't so superior after all. 

My search expanded from simple magic to life magic, the theories of life, life processes and anatomy. The results were quite fruitful, and I had many ideas of how to begin. Although I hadn't yet finished the magic section of the Library, I had everything I needed to get started. 

Surprisingly, I was loath to leave Faowri to her own devices. Her conversations were intelligent and we spoke as equals. But, undoubtedly, I would find others. Until then, it was back to my weary solitude. 

"Farewell, Faowri." Grasping her hand in mine, I shook it. "It's possible I will be back again, but just in case you are not here then, I wish to thank you for your help." 

"It was my pleasure," she smiled. "Your company was most enjoyable. Hopefully we will meet again, and not just inside Daguerreo." 

As I made for the entrance of the Library with my notes and my bag of provisions, I smiled wryly. If we ever met again outside of the Library, then it would be for me to order the Invincible to devour her soul. A pity. She was the first human I ever liked, too. But, sacrifices had to be made . . . I supposed. 

*** 

Now I needed a place where I could work on my new project in secret. I didn't want to have to build up a workshop entirely from scratch, and I wouldn't need to. Gaia's world had spawned many great architects and I had sought out some of them in Daguerreo's books. It was strange how so many of their projects were left . . . unfinished. 

But very fortunate for me, I thought, as the silver dragon dropped to a lower air current, drifting in a lazy, spiralling glide over the mountain range. I stood upon its back, the map I held flapping around violently in the wind. 

"Hover for a moment, please," I ordered, struggling to keep my balance. The air over this continent was hot and dry and the gales across this particular plain were incredibly fierce. It would have made more sense to sit down on my ride, but the part of me that had developed so strongly since my education at the Library insisted that I made a bigger impression when standing. 

The silver dragon obliged, back-winging so abruptly that I fell rearwards. A particularly sharp spinal ridge broke my fall. 

_"My apologies,"_ it said sincerely. 

"I accept them," I muttered irritably, rubbing my lower back and turning my attention once more to the map. "Now, Levien began to build his palace inside that mountain somewhere. Thankfully, he wasn't very smart and forgot about the earthquakes this area of the continent is racked with. With Lich," and I shuddered involuntarily, "containing that problem by now, I'll have the place to myself and none of the concerns that forced the architect to abandon the project." 

_"Where is it?"_

" 'Where is it?' indeed!" I said despairingly, scanning the surfaces of the mountain range for an abnormality that would signify the palace's location. The wind displaced my hair and I impatiently flicked it back behind my ears, but the few extremely feathery strands I had been cursed with since my creation continued to flap around in my face. "Drop low - _aahh_!" 

The silver dragon shrieked in surprise as, in the midst of a completely unexpected dive, the winds interfered with the air currents and it was forced to roll with them. When stability had been regained, it craned its head around to make sure I was still there. 

"Land, land, land, land, _land_!" I yelled, thankful I hadn't been standing upright during that fanciful manoeuvre. 

We reached the foot of the mountain without further incident, though I sourly wondered if a Float spell might make life easier when riding my companion over this area in the future. 

_"This planet's skies are unfamiliar to me,"_ was the dragon's excuse. 

"Even after more than two years down here?" I replied with some amusement. 

_"They are not like Terra's. They change. They move."_

"Look!" I pointed hastily at an irregular formation of rock in the mountainside, hundreds of feet up. "It said in the document that the entrance was closed up by another earthquake shortly after abandonment." 

_"Shall I fly you up there?"_

I raised an eyebrow, conjuring up in my mind an image of the death grip I had held on the dragon during his midair roll. If my draconic friend could look sheepish, it achieved the expression marvellously. 

"I think, for now, I'd rather climb." 

*** 

_"It's certainly big enough,"_ the dragon remarked, flexing its wings to prove this as we stood in the cavernous entryway of the palace. A quick Flare spell had removed the rubble blocking our way. 

"We could stow the Invincible in here, if we needed to," I agreed. "But we don't. Still, there may be a purpose for it later on. Shall we continue?" 

Despite entries in books that indicated the contrary, a lot of work had actually been completed inside the palace. Levien had originally meant for the inside to be constructed first, and then the outside sculpted from the rock surrounding it. He'd never reached that step, and since it meant my lair would remain hidden from view, I was grateful. The person the palace had been designed for also seemed to share my flair for the dramatic; something that pleased me immensely as I ran my fingers over delicately carved stone angels on the pillars supporting the heavy stone ceiling. Feats of magic sent shafts of light down from illusory stained-glass skylights, and, though dusty, the décor was lavish and expensive. Of course, it needed a lot of work, but I had plenty of time to make this place my own. 

_"You are excited,"_ the silver dragon observed, sidling through another arched doorway to join me. 

"Indeed!" I smiled, waving my hand absently at a vast array of long-since disused candles. The Fire spell set them blazing dramatically, casting long shadows against the smooth marble walls. "This will be _my_ place, no hand-me-down from Garland but a place I can adapt to my own tastes and requirements. It will be like . . . like a . . ." 

_"A home,"_ it finished for me, when my mouth dried to such an extent that I couldn't continue. 

"Home," I repeated softly, and promised myself that the next time I said it, it wouldn't be such an unfamiliar word. 

**End of Act 2: Scene 2**


	9. Act 2: Scene 3

**Act 2: Scene 3**

It was almost painful to have to choose between refurbishing my Desert Palace and starting work on my project, but the latter eventually emerged victorious. In one of the palace's rooms, I found a snoozing moogle, which I awakened with a quick flick of his pom-pom. 

"What the . . ." The moogle looked up, squinting at me before wobbling onto his legs. "Kupo!" 

A small envelope was stuck to his belly. The moogle gasped and peeled it away from his fur with a few yelps and curses that were most unbecoming of a faerie. 

"Kupo?! How long has Mojito been asleep?!" 

"I have no idea." I smiled. "What's wrong? Undelivered mail?" 

"Waaaiiii, Artemicion will _kill_ Mojito!" he wailed, and proceeded to run around in frenzied circles until I tripped him up with some sort of torture instrument that I grabbed from a nearby wall. The moogle picked himself up and shook his head wildly instead. 

"Listen, since I woke you up, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do me a favour?" 

He shook his head even harder. "Mojito is busy, now, busy busy busy bus-_eeeee_!" 

"Mognet can wait for now," I said, grabbing the furry creature around the waist. "I have a job for you to do!" 

"Not fair, not fair!" Mojito squealed, and wriggled around in my hands until he popped loose. Then he made a frenzied bolt for the door. He shrieked when a fork of lightning crashed down on the flagstones before him, and covered his squinty eyes with his paws. "Don't hurt Mojito, kupo!" 

"I never intended to," was my innocent reply, and following that, I stalked over to the cowering moogle and scooped him up in my arms, plopping him down on a table. "Now, listen. I have a very simple job for you to do. Think you can do it?" 

Mojito scratched his ear. "Don't know, don't know!" 

"It's _simple_. Trust me." 

"Kupo . . ." 

"You know of the Mist Continent, correct?" 

"Kupo . . ." 

"I'm sure it wouldn't be _too_ hard for you to investigate the current political situation there for me, am I right?" 

"No, kupo . . . _Yowch_! Yes, yes, kupo!" 

"Good." With a grin, I delicately caught the tips of the little moogle's purple wings and twirled him around to face the door. "Get to it then. I want to know _everything_, so make sure you question your little moogle friends! And report back!" 

"Stiltzkin will know," Mojito said certainly. "Stiltzkin knows everything, kupo!" 

"Then you can ask him," I told the moogle. "Oh, and I suppose you can deliver that message while you're at it, as long as you don't waste too much time! I need to know, and I need to know soon!" 

"Okay, okay, kupo! Mojito will hurry - but you owe Mognet a favour, Human-With-Tail!" 

I couldn't help but wince. "Kuja will do fine, thank you very much. Now go!" 

*** 

It was another three months before Mojito returned to my Desert Palace, and his news had hardly been worth waiting for at all. 

"All is stable and quiet, Mojito learns," the moogle informed me emphatically. "All cities at peace!" 

"Not for long," I grinned. "You're being a bit vague." 

Mojito batted his wings angrily. "Mojito did Kuja's work for him! Mojito go now?" 

"Oh, I don't think so." 

"But . . . but . . . Mognet!" The moogle flapped his paws at the bag of mail hanging around his neck. 

"You can continue to deliver your letters. But I will require your services often." Having been prepared for this moment, I delved into my pocket and produced a palm-sized object. "I believe moogles are quite taken by these, am I right?" 

Mojito's jaw dropped. "Kupo nut! _Kupo_!" 

Smiling, I held it in front of his nose before snatching it away again. "Now, do you want to tell me what's _really_ happening on the Mist Continent?" 

Mojito nodded excitedly, and I tossed him the nut. He caught it deftly and began to nibble on it, pausing between chews to announce the news. 

"Sad, sad in Alexandria Castle. Princess Garnet goes away." 

" 'Goes away'?" 

"Yes, her soul, it returns to Gaia." 

I blinked. "You mean she's died?" 

Mojito nodded solemnly. 

"Princess Garnet . . . Brahne's daughter?" 

"That's right, kupo." 

"How is she taking the news?" 

"Bad bad bad, kupo! Stiltzkin said . . . her husband is doing all the work. She hasn't come out of her bedroom for days, kupo." 

"Interesting . . ." 

"Also keeping the news from Alexandria. No one knows yet, kupo. Mojito doesn't think King will let the people know. King is telling Alexandria that Queen Brahne is ill." 

"Oh? Then how did _you_ find out?" 

"Stiltzkin, kupo!" The moogle's features softened with undeniable respect. "He knows everything!" 

So - a queen in a mentally unstable condition. I could work on that. But the King would prove a hindrance. I didn't particularly want to cause any deaths just yet, but he would have to be eliminated eventually if I followed this through. 

"Okay. Anything else you feel you should tell me?" 

"No, kupo. You want Mojito to return and listen? Cost you a kupo nut, kupo! Mojito listen good!" 

The next nut bounced off his head, and he scurried after it. 

"Yes." I turned back to my black mage designs. "Keep me informed, Mojito. Return the _instant_ something comes up." 

"Kupo!" Mojito hurried out of the door, and I added a final mark to the diagram I was working on. Determinedly, I rolled up the sheet and carried it out of my as yet unfinished quarters. Due to earthquakes, several of the staircases had collapsed within the palace itself, so I had initiated simple teleportation spells like the ones on Terra to allow me access to all areas. 

With a slight spring in my stride, I stepped into the one that led to the mountain entrance. The silver dragon was dozing on the ledge, its body positively gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through to the innards of the palace. Smiling, I walked over to it, scratching its eye ridges gently to rouse it from sleep. 

"Come, my friend, I need some materials." 

The dragon blinked drowsily as I mounted, but obediently moved its wings out of the way. _"Where do you plan to go?"_

"Lindblum. There are plenty of artisans there who can help me." 

_"Very well."_ It hesitated a moment as it prepared to launch into the open space beyond the entrance. _"Kuja . . . do you insist on standing up?"_

"I'll get it right this time." With a reassuring pat, I signalled for the dragon to take off. 

*** 

The skies were dark over the majority of the Mist Continent. I found that there was something exhilarating about flying at night; perhaps the open, infinite space all around you, all detail shrouded by blackness. You couldn't tell how far up you were or, perhaps more accurately, how far down you would fall if fate dealt you a bad hand. Well, it was probably an acquired taste of adventuring. 

I felt I was finally getting the hang of standing astride the silver dragon. Its back was quite full of various folds and crests and, if I placed my feet either side of the spinal ridge in a certain place, the hardened scales near the wing joints supported me. I'm not so sure why I found standing while riding so important, but the vision of my final revenge on Garland was always vivid in my mind, and it included me swooping down upon the silver dragon, body bent into the wind and a victorious, elated expression on my face. I suppose I wanted to look that way, because it seemed impressive to me and would obviously appear so to everyone else. 

It also made me feel more confident. I was _riding_ the dragon, not being carried by it. 

_"It is very dark now,"_ it stated slowly. _"I think we should find a place to set down for the night."_

"Nonsense. You can see fine in the dark!" 

_"But I hear something."_

"Hear what?" I cocked my head slightly to the left, but all I could hear was the sweeping wind of the dragon's steady forward glide. 

_"I smell it, too."_ The silver dragon growled suddenly, the sound rippling the muscles of its torso and I could feel the movement through my shoes. 

"Smell _what_?" 

And then something materialised in the darkness, full of fang and claw. It careered into the silver dragon, who swung left in the air, back winging to steady itself. 

_"Another dragon!"_ it roared. 

Somehow I had stayed on my feet. "Silver? That's impossible!" 

_"No, not silver. But it is a -"_

The silver dragon shrieked a challenge. My eyes wide, I dropped carefully to my knees and grabbed a spinal ridge forcefully. "What are you _doing_?! Forget the dragon, I have places to go!" 

But my companion wasn't listening - it obviously had its ears full of instinct instead, and that instinct was telling it to fight. And a mid-air dragon duel was no place for me. 

"Could you at least let me down first?" I tried desperately. "I'm sure you're more than a match for this dragon but you don't have to prove it!" 

It was a grand dragon. I ascertained that much when it swooped down from above and narrowly missed me as it tried to clamp its foaming jaws around the silver dragon's throat. Furiously, I grabbed the creature's shoulder. 

"Let's see how you like this one," I snapped, and thrust a Blizzaga spell into the fibres of its body. 

The grand dragon screamed in pain and began to fall backwards, its hulking form a writhing, tortuous nightmare as the light of the spell cast it in shades of incandescent blue and white. Icy air rushed past me, and the silver dragon joined in the cacophony of screams as its opponent's claws raked across its back deeply. Instinctively, it jerked away from the pain. 

It was at that point that I found myself suspended in the air by absolutely nothing. It was so dark that only when the lights of the town below me began to increase in size and intensity did I realise I was actually falling. That sudden realisation was like hitting a brick wall - something that stood a high probability of becoming reality if I didn't halt my quickening plummet. 

At any moment I expected the silver dragon to swing in beside and below me and save me from an unwanted meeting with the ground. But when I flipped over and spotted the bouts of flame lighting up the sky far above me, I realised that this was not going to happen. 

"Do I have to do _everything_ myself?" I yelled into the wind, and hurriedly cast a Float spell. Unfortunately, I had left it a little too late, and my downward speed was so high by now that the magic struggled to gain the upper hand. This effectively meant that I had crashed through a roof and landed quite luckily on a bed in the room below before the spell actually started working. Of course, by then, I was no longer concentrating, so the Float spell misfired and inadvertently struck the bed that had saved my life. 

I was not surprised, therefore, that the person who rushed into the room and saw the hole in the ceiling and me on a very regal bed flooded with timber from above that was, in turn, hovering three feet off the ground, yelled: "What the hell?!" 

I knew the voice from somewhere. In a state of shock, I simply blinked, unable to focus on the person in question. 

"I don't believe it." 

"Believe what?" I asked weakly, finally rousing enough to be coherent. 

"It's _you_. Kuja!" 

Startled, I glanced up from the soft folds of the bed and fixed the speaker with a scrutinising glare. It was a shock to my already shaken system when I finally recognised who was addressing me. 

The woman was dressed in a long white nightgown, but still wore her wide-brimmed hat, and that alone made her identity unmistakeable. 

"Don't you ever take off that wretched hat, Faowri?" I sighed, but smiled with relief that it was her. 

"No. Where did you come from?" The red mage tilted the brim of her favourite accessory a little, eyeing me suspiciously. "Anyone would think you were following me." 

"Don't be silly." Groaning, I began to test my boundaries of movement. Considering that I had just fallen a damn long way, I was surprisingly unhurt. "Where are we?" 

"Treno, King's Mansion." Faowri stopped studying me long enough to peer up through the hole in the roof. "Why is my bed floating in mid-air?" 

"An ill-timed Float spell," I replied dazedly, rolling onto my back and gazing up at the heavens. There was no sign of two dragons locked in battle. 

"Ah, so you've been experimenting with magic?" Faowri grinned maliciously. "That doesn't explain how you got up there," and she jerked a thumb at the stricken ceiling. 

"I wish I could remember," I bluffed. Even the cynical Faowri seemed hesitant not to trust my well-acted performance, a shield I would use often when dealing with humans and the like in the future simply because it was so impenetrable. I had taken to deceit like a chocobo to its native forest. 

"Hmph. Well," she muttered, folding her arms. "Are you all right?" 

"I _think_ so . . . aiieee!" 

"I take it I didn't imagine that loud crack, then." 

"No . . ." Grimacing with pain, I clutched my snapped forearm with my uninjured hand. "I didn't even feel it!" 

"Shock, I guess," Faowri shrugged, and, closing her eyes, rested a hand on the bed. A soft wind seemed to course through the covers, and it gently lowered back to the floor. 

I resisted the temptation to cast a Curaga spell on my flaming limb - it would blow my cover as a mere dabbler in magic, and I didn't want to have to jeopardise Faowri's friendship just yet. 

"Pass it here," she said, holding out a slender hand. Gingerly, I lowered the broken arm into her palm and let it rest there. Faowri's eyes glowed faintly as she cast a spell with light fingers, and a sigh escaped my lips at the relief it offered. Unfortunately, it was only a weak version of the healing energy I was familiar with. 

"Why not a higher level spell?" I demanded, feeling hard-done-to. "Are you not as powerful as you claim, Faowri?" 

"I never claimed to be anything," she smiled maliciously. "But the quicker you heal, the sooner you leave here, and now that you've arrived, I think I have a task for you." 

"What right do you have to -" 

"Well, you owe me, Kuja, for my help at the Library and for destroying my much revered bedroom!" 

I looked around at the chaos. She had a point. Shooting her a fierce look, I asked: "What do you want?" 

"It's nothing taxing, I assure you," Faowri said reassuringly. "And it's probably something you'll enjoy. But first, let's see what other damage you've done to yourself." 

**End of Act 2: Scene 3 **


	10. Act 2: Scene 4

**Act 2: Scene 4**

"This," Faowri announced triumphantly, "is Utendo King." 

I stared at the shrivelled man lying in the grand, theatrical bed. He seemed to be little more than a mound of wrinkled skin, dressed in a tasteful dressing gown and smoking a pipe. Though his age seemed infinite from the state of him, there was an alertness to his sharp features that caught me slightly off guard. 

_This_ was Utendo King? The powerful, undefeated noble known best for owning three fifths of Treno's total wealth, and properties in Alexandria and Lindblum? I had read much about him, but nothing could have prepared me for a shrivelled old man, seemingly incapable of taking himself to the toilet, let alone ruling an empire of money and power in this dark city. 

I remembered what I had learned. "The owner of the auction house?" 

King nodded. "That's right." His appearance was deceptive - the man's voice conveyed a fierce sense of dignity and quiet strength. "And who might you be?" 

"This is Kuja," Faowri said, bowing slightly. "He . . . had an accident outside and I've decided he can stay until he is well again." She shot me a subtle warning glance, and I nodded dutifully. 

"What does that have to do with me?" King asked. 

"Well, since you're both bedridden, I thought he could keep you company." Faowri grinned at the old man. "That way, you might leave me to my studies instead of plaguing me out of sheer boredom." 

I stared sceptically at her. That was what she wanted me for? To _entertain_? 

"What was that bang across the hallway I heard?" 

"I'm redecorating my bedroom," Faowri said seriously, though I saw her lips twitch at the amusing half-truth. 

"Just like your mother," King muttered. "Well, okay then. If you trust this man, strange though he may look, I'll trust him, too." He regarded me curiously. "Though you might want to offer him a change of clothes." 

Looking down, I saw that my fall through a roof had all but ruined my all-purpose Genome suit. Well, at least now I had an excuse to replace it! 

There was something about the man that felt odd. Because of my heritage, I was extremely sensitive to the presence, absence and construct of souls, and Utendo King's was decidedly unhealthy. It was so full of leaks and tears that I could feel the life energy escaping him as we spoke. I had noticed it the instant I had entered the bedroom, but only then did the meaning of the phenomenon sink in. I sighed with pity. 

"I'll see to that," Faowri said politely, and, gently taking me by the arm, escorted me to the corridor outside. 

"That man is dying," I said quietly when we were out of earshot. 

The red mage looked at me, and smiled sadly. "Yes, he is. And knows it. Take care not to mention it in his presence, Kuja." 

"Faowri, why are you here?" 

She began to pace across the landing, one hand gripping the railing fiercely. "I live here," she said coldly. 

"And Utendo King?" 

"He is my father," Faowri replied bluntly. 

"I'm sorry . . ." And I surprised myself by meaning it. 

"It's not your fault. He is an old man. And old men die eventually. I do wonder, though . . ." She turned and fixed me with a scrutinising stare. "How did you know he was dying?" 

For once, I felt the truth would be an acceptable answer. 

"I could feel his life leaving him as he lay there," I sighed, and shrugged, wincing as I jarred my arm. "It's not the best explanation, but . . ." 

"There is much about you I do not understand, Kuja," Faowri said, but her tone was not judgemental; it was merely a statement of fact. Finally, she threw me one of her quirky smiles. "Come. Let's find you something to wear." 

*** 

"This _blasted_ tail!" I yelled, trying in vain to struggle into the loose-fitting trousers. 

Faowri was standing behind a partition screen with the servant whose clothes I was gratefully borrowing. I could hear both of them giggling, and it didn't improve my temper one bit. 

"You'll just have to make do for now, Kuja," the red mage called amusedly. "When your arm heals, I'll take you down to the tailor's and get you something fixed up." 

Irritably, I tried to manoeuvre the waistline of the trousers so that they allowed my tail access to fresh air, but nothing seemed to work. 

"I think I'm going to have to make a hole," I moaned, causing Faowri and the servant to laugh. 

"If you want, Manchi can help you." 

The urge to dull the pain of my broken arm was so strong that I had to grit my teeth against it. Without its aid, I couldn't hold the trousers in place _and_ cut a hole where I needed it. Stifling my pride, I decided that this was no time for modesty. 

"I'd be grateful," I snapped, and the chuckling male servant moved around the partition screen, grabbing a pair of scissors from a wall cabinet and fighting against my wavering tail to put them to use. When the deed was finally done, I threaded my irritating appendage through the small tear and freed it from the folds of fabric it had been trapped in. Tightening the cord around the waist of the trousers, I nodded my thanks, and stepped out from behind the screen. 

Faowri's eyebrows lifted with pleasant surprise. "Yes, white becomes you, Kuja." I snorted, and she smiled. "Okay, like I said, I'll arrange for a trip to the tailor's very soon." 

"That would be appreciated." 

"You're hungry now?" 

"I eat very little." But, surprisingly, my stomach was growling, and loudly enough to give me away. 

"Obviously," she smirked. "With a build like that, I shouldn't imagine you eat enough to fuel a small child." 

"Naturally slender," was my riled response. 

Faowri grinned. "I'm jesting with you, Kuja. You have a habit of taking things so personally, you know." 

"Most of the insults I've ever received have been intensely personal," I muttered bitterly. 

"I see," she said slowly. 

Irritably, I waved a hand to dismiss her apology. "You mentioned food?" I smiled. 

She nodded amusedly. "Yes. Right this way . . ." 

*** 

The next morning, Faowri cast another Cure spell on my arm and escorted me to King's room. Manchi the servant, laden with a lightly burdened tray, appeared from down the hall, knocking and entering and disappearing inside the extravagant bedroom with little more than a nod to the both of us. When he exited after only a few seconds, it was minus the tray of breakfast. 

I watched him retreat to the stairwell and vanish out of sight. 

"Now," Faowri said suddenly, effectively gaining my full attention. "We've reached the part you might enjoy." 

"I'll bet," I said, pulling a face. 

"You should learn to trust me more," she said sternly, and grabbed the ornate handle, twisting it before opening the door fully. "Have fun!" 

I was rather roughly ushered inside. The door then closed behind me. The sound of it thudding into place was faintly ominous, and I was having serious misgivings about this entire thing. 

"It's about time you got here, lad," a voice called from the cosy-looking bed. Utendo King was lying there, resting the tray on his lap and tucking into his breakfast, although the whole scenario of him heartily eating felt a little forced to me. It was apparent that King only ate as much as he did to satisfy his concerned servants and daughter. "Kuja was your name, correct? Come, sit!" 

An unmistakeable order. I suppressed anger, having expected to receive no such things once out of Garland's suffocating grasp. Still, there was little else I could do, besides kill the old man, and I suspected Faowri wouldn't appreciate the poetic justice of such an action. 

Warily, I sat down in the comfortable chair positioned beside the bed, my eyes fixed on the old man in the bed. 

"What exactly am I expected to do?" I asked abruptly. 

King's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "What Faowri used to do for me every day before her ridiculous studies intensified." 

That surprised me. "You don't approve of her becoming a mage?" 

"I don't mind that at all. But when the family heritage is sacrificed at those studies' expense . . ." 

I realised I had touched on an awkward subject, though I considered King selfish indeed if he expected his daughter to postpone the workings of her own life while he still existed. 

"And what did she used to do for you?" I questioned, subtly changing the subject. 

King reached under his mass of pillows and removed a slim, red, leather-bound tome. Curious, I accepted it when his frail hand pushed it into mine. 

I turned it the correct way up, unable to hide my smile as I read the title. 

_I Want To Be Your Canary._

"It seems you have good taste, old man," I grinned. "Faowri read to you?" 

"Yes, all of Avon's plays. She was pretty good at it. Let's see if you can do any better, lad!" 

At King's challenging expression, I chuckled. 

"I assure you, I can," I stated, and, opening the book to the first page, launched into the play loudly and without a hint of hesitation. 

A few hours later, Faowri returned. I was slightly disappointed, as we hadn't yet finished the play. Indeed, we were only about halfway through it. 

"Well?" she questioned, one eyebrow raised high. 

"Simply put, my dear," King said with doubtless affection, "he kicks your arse. You should see the lad go! He was changing his voice for every character and performing the actions and everything!" 

Practically beaming at such praise, the most sincere I had ever received in my entire wretched life, I bowed delicately. "It was my pleasure, Mr King. I'd be happy to repeat this session tomorrow morning for you. We can finish the play." 

"Splendid! I'll look forward to it, Kuja." 

Faowri closed the door behind us when we exited the room together. Grinning inanely, she punched my good arm. 

"Hey!" 

"You genius!" she exclaimed. "I haven't seen him that enthusiastic since before my mother died!" 

"Well, I try," was my smug response. What I didn't tell her was that I had immensely enjoyed reciting that play for her father. In theory, my life was devoted to one purpose only, so leisure time for me was rare. Thus, I no longer regretted having to let my arm heal so slowly. In fact, I found myself liking the idea of someone who understood my love for theatre, and appreciated it as well as I did. 

I sensed that 'entertaining' Utendo King wouldn't turn out to be such a chore, after all. 

*** 

Over the next few weeks, as my arm gradually healed, I spent more and more time with King, who proved to be entertainment in himself. When I wasn't reciting plays that I practically knew off by heart without the aid of the script, we would talk about various things, such as the auction house, his late wife, and Faowri . . . He seemed to throw out random anecdotes about his life, which, despite such fortune with money, was apparently beset by constant sadness. 

I learned that Faowri was actually a twin, but that her sister had died soon after birth. His wife had been dogged by a degenerative illness since before he had even met her, but he had wed her anyway, knowing that. She had died when Faowri had been only seven. 

But not once did he mention his own gradual demise. 

King seemed to command a happy household. His servants were well paid and well looked after, as were their families. This didn't come as a surprise to me - for all his blunt sense of humour and rigid ways, he was instantly likeable and mostly because of his lack of perfection. King's flaws made him a better person. 

And, of course, his love for theatre. He never ceased to remind me that it'd been a long time since someone like me had arrived to share this devotion with him. Apparently, his wife had been his original reading partner. 

Some days he even managed to travel downstairs to the auction room and invited me to sit in the upper balconies with him. I was introduced to the sturdy auctioneer, who appeared to me to be an extremely . . . useful man. From the words I exchanged with him, I determined that he was fiercely loyal . . . to whoever paid him the highest wages. Fortunately, the employer who happened to fit this category, at least for the time being, was King. 

Throughout this period of relative inactivity, I often began to grow anxious about Garland. To him, this would be deemed a waste of time . . . 

Well, Garland wasn't in charge down here. I was. And no matter how much he disliked that fact, he would have to bloody well deal with it! 

*** 

_"Kuja . . ."_

I sat bolt upright in bed, fearing for a moment that Garland was trying to get in contact with me. He had warned me that he could at any time he felt necessary, simply by crossing the path of his soul with mine. But the usual 'pressure' feeling accompanying soul activity was not present tonight. 

Then I remembered the silver dragon. 

_"Kuja, it is I."_

I tossed the heavy covers to one side, scrambling out of bed and walking into a low cabinet with a sharp curse. The guest room I had been allocated had a balcony . . . 

_You know where I am? _

"Yes. But I cannot get to you." It sounded anxious and I could hear frenzied movement on the roof of the building. 

Rubbing at my sore shin, I quickly told the silver dragon to wait and manoeuvred myself to the delicate doors of the balcony. The night was warm, and it was late enough for even the citizens of Treno to be sleeping. 

"Sshhh!" I hissed, waving my arms frantically. "You'll wake everyone up!" I reached the balcony and turned around, glancing up at the roof. The looming silhouette with the pair of luminous blue eyes that was my friend slowly stopped fidgeting. 

_"I am sorry, Kuja. I failed you."_ The dragon's mental tone was heavy with such genuine guilt that 'anger' was not then a possibility for me. 

"Well, I'm still alive, so don't worry about it," I said grudgingly. There was an ivy lattice to the side of the door, which I jogged over to and began to climb. Three quarters of the way up, the dragon's head swung down. After scaring me half to death, it offered some support where my weakened arm failed me and crooned mournfully until I reached the roof and scratched its eye ridges in a placating manner. 

_"I am sorry."_

"I know! I forgive you. Just stop making so much noise!" Rolling my eyes, I assumed a position next to its warm body and absently stroked the softer, almost fur-like skin around its ears when it rested its head in my lap. 

_"I have missed you, Kuja. I was worried you might be hurt."_

The sincerity in its voice made me smile uncertainly. Until then, I had never been quite sure whether or not the dragon followed me because it owed me its escape from Terra, or whether it genuinely liked me. I realised a little late that I had forgotten to think those thoughts on a 'private' band. 

The dragon craned its head, its intense eyes whirling. _"You are my friend, Kuja. I love you."_

The suddenness and earnestness of that remark caught me completely off balance, and despite myself, I blushed. "Don't be silly!" 

_"But it's true,"_ it said, pressing the point and completely unembarrassed about doing so. _"Do you not love me also?"_

I grinned, roughening my caresses affectionately. "Well . . . I suppose I do . . . although sometimes I wonder why!" 

_"Are you ready to leave now?"_

I hesitated. Technically, I could leave without a word and get back to work . . . but . . . besides the fact that I was actually enjoying my time here, I figured that I was building some useful contacts. Plus, the only item of clothing I had that actually belonged to me was my carabini mail, the only thing to have survived my fall without a scratch. 

Garland would hate me for it, but . . . 

"No. I'm staying for a while," I whispered. "I'll keep you informed, and call you when I need -" 

Abruptly, the dragon's head jerked out of my grasp, throwing me backwards against the tiles. 

_"Someone is listening."_ It began to growl. _"I will get them."_

"Hey, wait!" 

But its body was moving lithely towards the edge of the roof and its upper half leaning down to the balcony before I'd even given the order. There was a sharp gasp of fear from down below, and then the dragon reared back up onto the tiles, carrying a squirming figure in its jaws by the collar. 

"Silver dragon, stop!" I commanded with a hiss, and the mysterious spy was dropped unceremoniously on the roof. I slapped my forehead when I recognised the white nightgown they were wearing. _Damn . . ._

_"Well, they_ did _already know I was up here,"_ the dragon said sheepishly. 

I waved aside the excuse with one hand, hurrying to the side of the person to whom I already owed more than I would have liked. 

"Kuja! What the _hell_ is that thing?" she shrieked, and I clapped a hand over her mouth until she calmed down. 

"Faowri . . . it won't hurt you, so stop panicking." 

Still staring at the thoughtful-looking dragon, she shook her head. "But what is it?" 

"It's a dragon." 

"_What_?!" 

To prove a point, I moved over to its side and rested an arm on the head it obediently lowered. "More specifically, it's _my_ dragon." 

"Since when have you had a dragon?" The frenzied red mage caught the hat that had fallen off her head in the chaos and jammed it down in its usual home. "And what's it doing on the roof of my house?" 

"I crossed continent on it. We've been partners for a very long time. That's how I reached Daguerreo, too." 

"But . . . but . . . I've never heard of a dragon like _that_ before." 

"It's . . . one of a kind," I bluffed. _Don't get angry about this next part . . ._ "A deformed version of the red dragons, from the coldest continent?" 

_"Hmph. I eat those kind for breakfast,"_ it snorted indignantly. 

Faowri's previously harsh breathing had slowed somewhat. Well, at least I knew she wasn't completely impervious to fear. 

"I've heard of red dragons," she said slowly, "but I've never seen one . . . never been close to a dragon of any kind, before now." 

"Ah, that explains your surprise," I smiled. "Forgive me, it was not my intention to frighten you." 

With great dignity, she rose and looked from me to the dragon, several times. "How did you manage to get your hands on a dragon, Kuja?" 

"I don't _own_ it, exactly. We just . . . came to a mutual understanding." 

"A friendship?" She raised an eyebrow in typical Faowri nature. "With a dragon?" 

"Why not?" I patted the silver dragon. 

"Well . . . oh, never mind." Faowri grinned. Cautiously, she stepped a little closer to it, cocking her head to the left. 

"It won't hurt you," I laughed. "Not unless I tell it to." 

"And you wouldn't do that, now, would you?" she chuckled. "It's so . . . big! Does it have a name?" 

A name! It had never even occurred to me to give my friend a label, even after all these years. _Do you_ have _a name, silver dragon?_

_"A dragon does not go by a name. It is recognised by its scent."_

_You have a scent?_

_"It would be unpronounceable to you, Kuja."_

"Well, I just call it . . . silver dragon," I admitted, a little sheepishly. "It never really complained . . . ah . . ." 

"It _talks_ to you?" Faowri was incredibly interested. "How, exactly?" 

_Oh, gods . . ._ "It's hard to explain, really. It talks into my head." 

"So you could be having a conversation right now without me even knowing?" she asked slyly. 

_"She's clever,"_ the silver dragon remarked. 

_Shut up, you._

_"Well, she is!"_ Abruptly, it spread its wings, almost blowing us both off the roof. _"You are all right. I have not eaten since you fell."_

"What?" I nearly fell backwards. "Are you crazy?! Why not?" 

_"I was worried about you. And guilt-ridden. I go and hunt now."_

"Hunt where?" 

_"Where that grand dragon used to."_ And if a dragon could look smug, the silver dragon achieved the expression augustly. With a tremendous sweep of its wings, it was in the air and little more than a dark speck in the night sky after only a few seconds. 

"Where did it go?" Faowri asked. 

"To hunt. It was hungry." 

"How often does something like that _eat_?" she wondered aloud. 

"Apparently, it can go weeks without food," I said, frowning. 

Faowri planted her fists on her hips. "Well, that was certainly interesting. Your arm seems much better, too, if you could climb up here." 

I flexed it. "Yes, it is. A few more Cure spells and it should be as good as new." 

She caught the accusatory tone in my voice and laughed. "All right, all right! How about I take you down to the tailor's tomorrow to make up for it?" 

"That would be great! I mean . . . if you don't mind . . ." 

"Of course I don't." She grinned. "Only if we get down off the roof, though." 

"You have a deal." 

"Come on then!" Faowri leaned forward and caught my good hand, dragging me along the tiles. 

I think that physical contact activated something inside me. Whether it was her constant switching of moods, her expressive features, or her character in general, I realised that there was something about Faowri that I really liked. 

And I mean _really_. 

Damn. 

The very last thing I needed was to start falling in love while I was trying to destroy the world. 

Garland was going to go _berserk_. 

**End of Act 2: Scene 4**


	11. Act 2: Scene 5

**Act 2: Scene 5**

"I can't _believe_ you can just clear out an entire shop like that!" 

Faowri grinned, watching several employees scurry out of the tailor's store. She caught one particularly lanky employee by the shoulder as he prepared to leave. 

"Not you, Windler," she ordered coolly. Somewhat huffily, the strange little man stood to one side and watched his colleagues make their exit. Referring to my original comment, she asked: "Why not? Kuja, the King family own this shop, you know." 

"Oh?" I can't say that I was really that surprised - King seemed to own almost everything in Treno, or at least the parts of it I had seen so far. 

When the shop was empty of everyone except Faowri, the little man named Windler, and myself, the red mage scooped something off the counter and tossed it to her employee. "Right, Windler, time to work. Be a darling and measure Master Kuja." 

Windler gave me a long-suffering sigh before flexing the tape measure expertly and motioning for me to cooperate. 

"So, did you have anything in mind?" Faowri asked, a little slyly. "When I was younger, I wanted to become a dressmaker, so my father indulged me. Technically, this shop is mine, so whatever it is that you want, I can get it for you." 

I raised my arms for Windler. "Well . . ." 

The red mage pursed her lips, tilting her hat to gift me a rare glimpse of her sky-blue eyes. "When we were at Daguerreo, you made all sorts of little drawings in the corners of your notes. I know you want something a little theatrical, so . . ." She paced around to my front, leaning so close to my face that I jerked back instinctively. "Hmmm . . . blue-eyed, silver-haired. Pastel colours!" 

She was gone around the corner before I could blink. 

"Is she always like this?" I whispered to Windler. 

"When it comes to clothes: always," he replied with a groan. "Ever since she was a child." 

We both hushed up when Faowri teetered back into view, her arms laden with fabrics, materials and already-tailored clothes. "Hey, did you bring that jacket you always wear?" 

"It's armour," I corrected, holding it up. "And, yes, I brought it, because you asked me to, remember?" 

She deposited her burden on the counter and snatched the carabini armour from my outstretched hand, holding it up to the light. "Can you remember those drawings you made?" 

"Of course I can. My memory is impregnable. Pass me a piece of paper or something and I'll show you." 

"Master Kuja, please hold still," begged Windler from somewhere below me. 

"Sorry!" 

"Here!" Faowri thrust a notepad and quill at me, holding the inkpot close so I could use it. With a few quick strokes, I outlined the prominent features of the costume I had designed back at the Library. When I had finished, she took the pad back and blew on the curling paper to dry it. The way she studied it made her expertise in this field blatantly obvious. 

Delicately, she raised her head and an eyebrow and simultaneously gave me an unimpeded view of her pleasantly rounded face. "A thong, Kuja?" 

I grinned in response. "I borrowed it from part of a design in a book." 

Returning the expression vividly, she shrugged. "Well, whatever floats your boat, my friend! I see you've developed the jacket item from your armour?" 

"Yes, it made sense at the time." 

"Well, that gives us a colour scheme, at least. Violet: a nice choice, at any rate. And white! White for the fabric parts, because it suits you." 

"Yes, ma'am." I held up my forearms in mock-defence at the reprimanding glare she sent in my direction. 

"I doubt I'll be able to get those boots - or the thong - for you for a couple of days, but the rest should be pretty simple. Now, let's get started. Windler, the measurements, please!" 

We continued well into the afternoon with this activity. Faowri seemed a different person when dealing with tailoring; so bright and cheerful and nigh on unstoppable that her happiness was infectious. Though it was only momentarily, I forgot all about Garland, all about Terra, all about my mission. For that one period of time, there was only Faowri and I, and while I'm sure she didn't interpret the experience in exactly the same way as I did, it felt . . . wonderful, to focus solely on enjoying her company. 

And, of course, the development of my new 'uniform'. Faowri's expertise in this field seemed to excel that of magic, because she knew everything, about every fabric in the shop, about colour and texture and pattern, and about tailoring to suit one's needs. So by the end of the session, I had chosen a heavy, white material for the belled sleeves and train of my design, partly rimmed with gold. While I modified my already intricately-constructed armour to accommodate the sleeves, she selected a tough, smooth leather, already dyed violet, for the other parts of my costume, and began writing notes to her employees about what to do with it. 

About the train of my costume, Faowri was initially doubtful. 

"It will be awkward, with your tail, Kuja," she said disapprovingly. "I mean, one will get in the way of the other, but if you hang the train any lower -" 

"That, my dear Faowri, is where you're wrong," I smiled, smoothing out the dense fabric that would eventually hang from my lower half. "Impossible to tell from the design, I know, but my tail will go between two layers of the material." 

"That will hide it completely from view." 

"Yes. I know." 

She widened her eyes a little. "Why do you hate your tail so much, Kuja?" 

I sighed. Even if I _could_ have explained it to her, I doubted she would have understood. The tails were unique to my race, and I hated my heritage more than anything in the world . . . well, perhaps not more than Garland, but they were all the one and the same when it came down to it. 

"One day, Faowri," I said firmly, "I'll tell you. But not now." 

"Well . . . I suppose that will have to do." She didn't seem too pleased about it, though. 

She made me return to King's mansion afterwards. Faowri recalled the tailors and had them helping her to make my boots, belts and accessories without delay, so I could hardly complain, but I did feel a slight pang of regret that our short period of leisure time was over. As soon as my clothes were tailored and ready, I would have no excuse to avoid getting back to work. It wasn't just that lingering fear of Garland that made me feel anxious about resuming my mission - it was the fact that, to achieve my aims, I had to play along with my creator's for a little while. And I wanted more than anything to make him pay for wronging me. My hatred for him was like a twisted knot in my soul that would only be loosened through his humiliation. 

So no matter how strong my affection grew for Faowri, she would always be my second priority for as long as it took to purge me of this bitter need for vengeance. 

It never occurred to me even once that I might live to regret that choice. 

*** 

Three days later, my costume was complete, and Faowri radiated even more excitement than I did. 

"I had several suits made up for you," she chattered away, ushering me into her freshly renovated bedroom. "Since you'll be wanting a change of clothes. Except for the jacket, of course. That's one of a kind! But it's armour so it should be pretty hardwearing anyway. And everything's -" 

"Faowri!" I grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "All right! It's supposed to be me who's excited, not you!" 

She grinned sheepishly. "I know, but . . . I wanted to give you something for making you baby-sit my father like that, and I _really_ want you to like it!" 

How fickle she was! Her personality seemed to flit constantly from one extreme to the other - one moment she was serious and humourless enough to make even the dead seem lively, and the next she'd be glowing with the radiant joy only normally found in children. But her unpredictability merely helped to stir that indefinable something that was what I felt for her. 

"If it was made by these hands," I smiled warmly, taking hers in mine, "then I'm sure I will love it." 

Faowri smacked the back of my hand playfully. "Flattery won't get you any more than you're already receiving!" 

"Your pleasure at my sincere compliments is reward enough . . ." 

Sidling back against a wall to wait, she laughed. "Kuja, cut the crap and try the damned thing on, will you?" 

Chuckling, I bowed, scooped up the clothing and boots, and entered Faowri's extravagant dressing room, closing the door quietly behind me. 

She had certainly put a lot of effort into making this for me. Not one stitch was faulty, every fold of fabric carefully considered and the embroidery nothing short of perfection. Even the stiff leather of the thigh-high boots and had been expertly tanned, stretched, and dyed to the same violet hue as my carabini mail. The boots were silver-tipped and silver-heeled, and the main foot section of each boot was embellished with a buckle of gold. I didn't put those on until last, though. 

The thong and its accompanying train came first. As per the design, my dratted silvery tail slipped inside the heavy white material, which hung at exactly the right height to make certain that no one would even be able to guess it was there, once hidden. 

Second was my carabini mail, with brand new belled sleeves of white long enough to hide my slender hands almost completely from view. The length of the armour left my midriff bare; I had stolen _that_ part of the popular outfit from one of my favourite character designs in the _Theatrical Costume_ book - the wearer happened to be a powerful sorcerer in the famed play he belonged to, and I had deemed it appropriate at the time. 

Finally, I slipped on the boots. They were a comfortable fit, and appeared hard enough to withstand the exertions I would undoubtedly put them through. 

As I prepared to exit the changing room, prompted by Faowri's impatient encouragement from behind the door, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror beside her dressing table. There I stopped, staring at the transformed person I saw. 

This was _me_. This was _Kuja_. Not Kuja the Genome, or Kuja the Angel of Death, or Kuja the Bringer of War, but _Kuja_. In that reflection I saw not what other people expected of me, but what I wanted to be. The confidence and the drama that shaped my personality shone through. 

Elated wasn't the word to describe my feelings as I continued to stare. 

Still . . . there was something missing . . . 

"Come _on_, Kuja! It can't take that long to get changed!" 

"Hold your chocobos!" 

I spotted the many pots and tins on Faowri's dressing table as I shouted that. Most had never been opened - undoubtedly, since the red mage didn't seem the dressing-up type, they were unwanted gifts, or simple ornamentation suitable for a dressing chamber. 

I pulled my mouth to one side in hesitation. Surely she wouldn't mind if I . . . 

_Oh, to hell with it!_

Scouring the available supplies with eager eyes, I came upon a small pot of a coppery-red substance. 

Its colour reminded me of blood. 

As I began to apply it to my eyes and lips, it dawned on me that my longing for such a drastic change of image wasn't entirely due to my love for theatre and drama. The more extravagant my costume, the further I moved from my despicable heritage. This was no mere idiosyncrasy on my part - it was active rebellion against what Garland had forced me to be. 

My clothes, my hair (which I had allowed to grow on its own instead of keeping it short as the Second and the other Genomes did), my make-up, the hiding of my tail - they were all just a disguise, plain and simple. They didn't disguise my Genome birth from Garland, or from the others of my kind, or even from the people of Gaia who had no idea that my planet or my race even existed; no, they disguised it from _me_. They helped me forget that I was simply another in a long line of clones, and they were _my_ expression of independence and individuality, things that Garland had always tried to squash whenever I attempted to assert them. 

Once again, I was reminded that, down here, it was _me_ in charge. Garland could do very little except watch the show, and I was going to give him a performance that he would _never_ forget. 

Oh yes, I would make sure of _that_, or die trying. 

"They're getting restless!" 

Faowri's naturally deep voice interrupted my somewhat obsessive thoughts, and I blinked as I tried to make sense of what she had said. 

"_What_ are getting restless?" 

"My chocobos! I can't hold them for much longer!" Her laugh was muffled. "If you don't come out, I'm coming in, and I don't care if you're naked!" 

"Godsdammit, Faowri, have you no patience?" 

But her antics shook the last of my seriousness away, and my grin was a mile wide when I finally stepped out of the dressing room, performing a little flourish in front of her. 

Faowri's jaw dropped, and she stood up from the bed. "Wow! Now _that_ is a theatre costume! You like it?" 

"No. I _love_ it!" 

She clutched at her hat respectfully. "I have to say, my boys and girls at the store did themselves proud. You'll _definitely_ get the attention you're after if you wear that, Kuja. And, if I must say, you know how to accessorise. Do tell what prompted the make-up?" 

"A theatre costume's not complete without make-up, Faowri." 

Sighing dramatically, the red mage folded her arms, her thin lips curled at the corners with amusement. "Is life just one big play to you?" 

" 'All the world's a stage'," I giggled, experimenting with the fact that the slightest movement of my arms sent my sleeves rippling through the air. "And I am merely an actor playing my part, for which I wanted a decent costume!" 

She threw a pillow at me in mock-disgust. "You're more eccentric than my old man!" 

"I'll take that as a compliment," I sniffed, pretending to be offended, and swanned towards the door, feeling much the part in my new clothes. 

"Then, my friend, I believe you require a dictionary!" 

Shaking a fist in her direction, making sure she could see me doing it, I continued on towards the guest quarters, where my room was currently designated. It occurred to me that I needed to start packing what little belongings I had with me. 

The realisation that I had to leave was similar to walking into a brick wall. I froze with my hand on the door handle, for the first time _ever_ considering the idea of screwing Garland and his plans and just . . . attempting to live ordinarily. 

But his hatred for me, and the sins he had already knowingly committed against me, were too heavily burned in my mind. If I stopped fighting . . . I would never be able to forget. And he would haunt me forever. 

The handle twisted, and the door opened. 

The extra garments of clothing that had been made for me were lying on the bed, neatly folded. I fingered them lightly, closing my eyes in thought. 

Did Faowri mean that much to me? She was the first person ever to have been considerate to me - discounting the Second, whom I hated and thus didn't count - but did I really . . . I mean, maybe it was just an elevated sense of gratitude or . . . something . . . 

Pain lanced through me so suddenly that I fell against the bed, clawing at the sheets and gasping for breath. Genomes have a high pain threshold, because they are exposed to the Light from the moment of their ejection from the stasis cylinders, and I was no different in that respect. But this wasn't a physical pain. 

It felt like something was eating away at the fringes of my very existence, wearing down the metaphorical walls that any person has to separate them from everyone and everything around them. 

"What the hell is going on?" I hissed through clenched teeth. 

_"Ah. It worked then."_

I looked up through sweat-blurred eyes, and saw Garland on the edge of my peripheral vision. An uncontrolled spike of fear impaled me through the heart before I managed to get my emotions in check, and faintly remained there throughout the rest of the conversation. 

"You never said . . . You never said soul pathing would . . . hurt like this!" 

Strangely enough, the slightly fuzzy image of Garland did not seem all that comfortable either. _"I didn't know it would,"_ he admitted slowly, pulling habitually at his beard. 

"Then . . . why does it?" 

_"It doesn't hurt with Mikoto."_

"Who?" 

_"Oh, never mind . . . you'll find out later, I suppose. I'm presuming it hurts like this because, subconsciously, you hate me so much that you don't want my soul to touch yours, and I can't say I'm being all that open at my end of things either. That's why this is so unpleasant."_

"Then dammit, Garland, hurry up and say what you have to say before I pass out!" 

_"Then stop asking questions!"_ he snapped in a commanding tone that bore no alternative. If it were possible, his expression changed from displeased to thoroughly furious. _"I am very . . . unhappy . . . about your method of dealing with the Second, Kuja."_

Despite the pain, I smiled an angelic smile and straightened up to look him in the eye. "Well, Master Garland," I said, twisting his title into a parody of the word, "I'd say sorry, but . . . I'm not. It's the best thing I've ever done." 

Garland narrowed his featureless eyes. _"You reap what you sow, so I'll allow fate to punish you for that."_

"Does this merry little conversation have a point? I won't be a very good listener if I'm out cold, Garland, a state that I'm rapidly approaching -" 

My creator smiled and waved a hand to cut me off. _"You've wasted enough time on your own pleasures, Kuja. Costume or no, you're still_ my_ Angel of Death, and you_ will_ work. I have need of you and the Invincible, in Madain Sari, on the Outer Continent."_

"Madain Sari? That remote little village occupied by passive humans?" 

Garland wagged a finger at me in reprimand. _"It seems you have not been reading as extensively as you might like to think. Nevertheless, they are my first targets. You will go there and reap their souls, because they are beginning to sense that something is wrong. If they are not stopped, they could become a hindrance."_

"What, do they possess some supernatural weapon?" I laughed outright. 

He raised his white eyebrows. _"One word, Kuja: Eidolons."_

And then the pain was gone, and so was Garland. Panting, I sat on the bed and waited for my recovery from that little activity in soul pathing. 

"A pleasure, as always," I scowled at nothing in particular. Well, now I'd practically had my choice made for me. It was time to leave. _Silver dragon; come for me. I will meet you outside the city gates._

A faint, affirmative echo of its voice was the only response I received. I suspected it was some distance away. 

"Kuja?" 

I glanced at the door to see Faowri peering around it. I asked her what was wrong. 

She frowned. "Here's why I came." The tin of coppery make-up flew from her hand and I caught it in mine. "I don't use it, so . . . hey, I thought I heard you talking to someone." 

"Just reciting lines from a play," I smiled, nodding my thanks for the gift. "It keeps my mind occupied while I attend to mundane tasks, like packing." 

Her eyes rounded, almost imperceptibly. "Then you're going now?" 

"I'm afraid I have to. I would like nothing more than to -" 

"Stay?" 

And the plea in her voice was blatant. 

I smiled sadly at her. "Faowri, I have to go. I have business to attend to elsewhere. I'm very grateful for your hospitality, and your generosity, but my time has run out." 

I began to throw my clothing into the small bag I had found under the bed, and expected that nobody would mind if I borrowed it. 

Faowri entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, consumed in thoughtful silence. Feeling more than a little awkward, I hefted the light satchel onto my shoulder, caught her hand in mine, and planted a small kiss on the back of it. 

"Thank you, Faowri. You have no idea how grateful I am." 

With that, I turned on my heel and walked towards the open door. 

"Kuja." 

It would have been so much easier if I had just kept walking. 

Instead, I turned to look at the red mage perched on the bed, who was staring at the hand I had tended to only seconds ago. 

"I think . . . my father would like it very much . . . if you came back." Tentatively, she reached up and removed her hat from her head, setting it in her lap. Raising her head, she made direct eye contact with me, and I marvelled at the quiet strength in her features and gestures. 

"_I_ . . . would like it very much," she added firmly. 

A slow smile spread across my face. "Then, if Lady Faowri wishes it, I _will_ come back. I promise." 

And that was final. She did not follow me down the stairs, or across the grand hall, or out of the door, and this made it easier. 

But the further I moved from her, the more determined I became to keep my promise. 

**End of Act 2: Scene 5**


	12. Act 2: Scene 6

**Act 2: Scene 6**

Eidolons. 

Garland's cryptic nature kicking in once again, or something of importance? 

_Silver dragon, have you ever heard of eidolons?_

The dragon's head feathers rustled thoughtfully. _"The name sounds familiar, but I cannot place it."_

I frowned, brushing my feathery hair from my face. The grace of this habitual movement had increased tenfold with the addition of my new costume. "Hmmm . . . Garland wouldn't have mentioned these 'eidolons' if they weren't important." 

_"The answer must lie in Madain Sari."_

"Then I will find it there. Fly swiftly, my friend!" 

And it did. We were settled on the cliff overlooking the ancient village in just over a day of intensive travelling. 

The weather was torrential. Rainwater seemed to be falling in solid blocks, and thunder and lightning cracked the blackened sky asunder. The charcoal clouds hid the Invincible, hovering at an altitude much higher than any ordinary airship could reach, and for that I was grateful - it would make it all the more dramatic when it descended from above to reap the souls of these seemingly peaceful humans. 

Drenched by the heavy rain, which somehow made me more serene rather than agitated, I decided it would be better for me to watch from afar the power of the Invincible, and then move in once the storm died down to kill off any survivors. 

"Are you watching, silver dragon?" I roared over the raging sound of the storm. 

_"I am."_

Smiling in anticipation, I threw my arms into the air and called for the Invincible with all of the power that dwelled in my body, and focused on driving this energy into the Eye, as I had been taught. And what happened after that excelled even my greatest expectations. 

The immense ship swung down over Madain Sari, and the sky burned with blood as the great Eye blinked and fixed on its target. Even my distance from the chaos, I could feel the waves of heat and sound pumping from the ship relentlessly, and I had to lay a hand on the silver dragon's shoulder when it began to fidget with fear. 

The storm seemed to congregate around the Eye, drawn by the magnitude of power, until Madain Sari was little more than a frail silhouette in the midst of a funnel of flaming cloud and burning rain. Parts of the town itself were sucked up into the maelstrom. I could see bodies tearing through the air as well, and I could hear the screams of sheer terror emanating from Madain Sari's quaking walls. 

And then I saw _them_. 

The eidolons. 

*** 

Great behemoths rose inside the chaotic tornado. As souls began to explode from the town and whirl upwards into the Eye, these immense monsters stood up and screamed. I was too far away to discern features, but the power they radiated was . . . insane! My pulse rate increased as I watched the souls of even these magnificent entities sucked up and away, stored inside the Invincible for as long as Garland, or I, deemed necessary. 

If _these_ were eidolons . . . then they were more powerful than any black mage I could create or any dark force I could harness. They might even be able to defeat _him_. 

And yet the Invincible was killing them! Killing them along with these . . . these 'summoners'. I recognised the term now. I was not a summoner, but there had to be other ways in which these incredible forces could be manipulated . . . 

By the gods, I would find them! 

*** 

Madain Sari was little more than a crumbling ruin by the time the sun rose at dawn. Ironically, it looked to be a spectacularly clear day. The waters on the lee side of the summoner village were calm, although wreckage - and bodies - from the night before could be seen floating on the surface of the ocean. The Invincible had returned to the upper layers of the atmosphere, no longer in view from Gaia's surface. 

Everything was very quiet. 

And it was in this quiet that I descended from the cliff, exhausted from my control of the Invincible, which had required my mind, body, spirit _and_ soul, but eager to find out more about these magical entities known as eidolons. 

I told the silver dragon to wait by the village entrance, and stepped inside. 

Despite the torrential rain collecting in puddles and pools all over the now uneven ground, the dirt at my feet was hard-packed and my boots clacked against it sharply. From the feel of things, I didn't have to worry - I literally couldn't sense a single soul around me. 

I walked through the village, poking my head inside badly damaged buildings, peering down wells, exploring the harbour . . . but there was no one left. All I found were bodies, corpses, and blood. It was a little disparaging to realise that this massive-scale, violent destruction inspired not disgust or horror, but pride and self-satisfaction in me. This was _my_ handiwork. And I was pleased with it? 

But what could I expect? I had been created to be this way. I was, after all, an Angel of Death. I couldn't help it if a love for bringing loss of life was already a part of my nature. At least I wasn't personal about it - except in Garland's case. Oh, I'd be _his_ Angel of Death, all right . . . 

_"You're making excuses for yourself,"_ the silver dragon observed dispassionately. Looking back, I could see it preening outside the village entrance. 

_I am not. I feel no guilt, so why should I be making excuses?_

_"Perhaps you are merely trying to explain your actions, to yourself."_

"Look! If I cared about these little horned freaks, I'd say so, okay?" I yelled. My voice careened around the desolate square I was standing in. Nothing responded to its echoes, though. 

The dragon gave me the mental equivalent of a sniff. _"Fine, then."_ And, thankfully, it remained silent after that. 

It was a circular building without a roof - apparently blown clean off in the attack last night - that caught my attention. Compared to the other dwellings in Madain Sari, it was huge, and very tall. As there was no longer a door to bar access, I decided to make myself welcome after ascertaining the building's purpose. 

Genomes are good with languages - they have to be. They know the Mother Tongue of Terra the instant they are released from their stasis cylinders, and they pick up the fairly global language of the Gaians very shortly afterwards. Thus, the inscriptions over the doorway took only minutes for me to decipher, and revealed that this building held the Eidolon Wall. Of course, this sounded very tempting. 

The first thing that caught my eye when I entered was the painted mural, now a little ruined but otherwise enduring, that ran the entire circumference of the interior wall. In the images I saw vivid depictions of some of the eidolons I had seen early that morning - and many that I had not. That made me very hopeful indeed. 

I spent several hours scanning the almost illegible writing that accompanied the images. Eidolons ranged from very powerful to just plain useful, if not damaging. And I needed an incredibly damaging eidolon to beat Garland with. Of course, my creator wasn't stupid, although I liked to think that he was. He would know my intentions for researching into eidolons. 

The only solution I could find to this problem was to incorporate the eidolons in my overall plan to bring widespread war to Gaia; that way he couldn't object to it. And the way I could do _that_ was apparent in one of the very last pictures on the wall . . . 

Alexander. 

That was the eidolon's name. It was the most powerful, available entity I could see on the entirety of the wall, and I had searched it extensively. The _important_ part of the information was this: it was sealed in quite an obvious location, considering its name, and by a single crystal. However, the mural indicated that something had happened to that crystal. If it went into any further detail than that, I couldn't decipher it. At any rate, it was my understanding that the Invincible didn't just devour and store souls - it could control them if need be. And eidolons might be magical, but they too had souls. If I could get the Invincible to _control_ the souls of the eidolons, then they would obey its commands. And since I was currently in command of the Invincible, they would ultimately be doing _my_ bidding. It would be akin to summoning them naturally. 

Well, Alexander was my chance. And I had to take that chance by the throat or Garland would reclaim my soul before I gained the opportunity for retaliation against his treatment of me. 

It looked like I'd be heading back to Daguerreo, then. Grinning at the long-awaited prospect of a method for my revenge, I left the Eidolon Wall and prepared to leave Madain Sari. It was then that I heard the crying. 

To my right, on a lower level of Madain Sari that should have been inaccessible, were three moving figures. One seemed to be an old man, silver-haired and bloodied from the storm and the soul reaping. The other two were younger, but equally as filthy. The female was curled into a tight little ball, sobbing her heart out, while the younger man attempted to comfort her with very close physical contact. Probably in love, I thought with a sneer, and aimed a palm at the oblivious survivors. 

The pain of Garland's soul pathing stopped me from firing a spell that would have obliterated them. 

_"Wait, Kuja."_

I was on my knees, and extremely pissed off. "Why?! What now, Garland?" 

_" . . . Do not kill these ones. The old one will die soon anyway, I expect, but . . . there are reasons that the summoners must not completely die out."_

"I thought you wanted them all dead. They are the only ones who can control the eidolons reasonably. And the last thing I need are righteous and sensible summoners out for justice when I start my war!" 

_"Oh? You'd rather the eidolons fall into the hands of the inept?"_

I laughed. "The inept are the people who will think they are in control of the war. And if they have eidolons, they will believe themselves invincible. And when they summon those eidolons, I will prove them wrong. They will aid me in my quest through their ineptitude. But the summoners have apparently been summoning for thousands of years - they know what they're doing! I will _not_ allow them to jeopardise my mission!" 

_"Oh, they won't. I'm sure you can handle two summoners, Kuja. I forbid you to kill these. One day, you'll find out why, and thank me for it."_

"Hah! The day I thank you for _anything_ is the day my soul is no longer my own!" 

_"That day won't come soon enough for me, Kuja."_

He broke contact, and I watched the survivors as I caught my breath back. Common sense ruled out the merciless killing of the three distraught summoners - Garland would not jeopardise the chance the assimilate Gaia, even it meant he could draw pleasure from my failure. So he had to have good reason to allow them to live. I would simply have to go along with it until I found out why. 

The silver dragon was waiting for me outside, as I knew it would be. As I climbed onto its back, it began to evaluate my feelings and condition. 

_"You are tired,"_ it stated. _"But you are also excited. You think you have found a way to beat Garland."_

"All true," I assured it, neglecting to stand for this trip in favour of resting my head against its feathery back. "Back to the Desert Palace for now. I'll fill you in later, if you haven't figured it out for yourself." 

The dragon modulated its usually erratic flight into a smooth, serpentine glide. I would have thanked it for being so considerate, but before I could even form the words in my head, I was asleep, the dragon's breathing a monotonous lullaby for my ever-active mind. 

**End of Act 2**


	13. Act 3: Scene 1

**Act 3 - Concerning the Inheritance of Sin   
Scene 1**

Daguerreo didn't have a dedicated section about eidolons. 

This caused me much frustration, because it meant I had to refine my search, and I couldn't afford to spend as much time in the Library as I had done during my first visit. 

My inquiries to the wrinkled veterans of Daguerreo produced very little in the way of concrete information. I covered the magic section extensively, but only dug up references to the powerful creatures. The area of the Library devoted to beasts and battles dredged up nothing but whispers of rumours. After that, I turned to the history section again, frantically chewing my way through tome after tome for revelations about Madain Sari and the summoners themselves. All but that elusive civilisation was recorded officially and expansively. 

Finding myself at a loss, I wasted several more days searching through mineral records and jewellery books, hoping to discover the secret of the crystal I had heard about at Madain Sari. That quest also proved fruitless. 

The answer hit me not long after. The existence of eidolons and summoners had yet to be proven within 'civilisation' on the Mist Continent. And _that_ would class them as Myth and Legend. 

My feet barely touched the ground as I made my way towards that area of the Library. 

"Too excited to think straight," I muttered to myself, skimming the spines of hundreds of books with nimble fingers. There were several that looked promising, and I dragged them all out of the dusty bookcase, staggering under their weight. My frame was not obviously made for hard labour, but the inhabitants of Gaia seemed obsessed with lore and legend and the tomes were incredibly heavy. For that, I suppose, I should be grateful, because when I tripped over an old lady in the narrow aisle, managed to miraculously stay on my feet despite a column of books in my arms that impeded any forward vision, but came crashing down when she chased me with her obsidian walking stick, the volumes scattered widely, and I landed face-first on an open and _very_ relevant page. 

"I'm never going to get old," I promised myself, rubbing at the lump the haggard woman had dealt me on the back of the head. She'd cursed and blamed me all the way, despite not having suffered a scratch herself, and had then attempted another blow for desecration of the books! Fortunately, I had managed to escape with the tome clutched in my arms to another bookshelf. 

All pain and irritation were forgotten when I read the open book properly. It was very old, and written in a version of the Common Tongue that echoed its age. Even with my Genomic talent for languages, I struggled to read it. The first part consisted of a lot of babble about the importance of responsibility when entrusted with power, but the passages after that . . . 

_" . . . whereupon it was decided that Alexander should be saved for a time when It was needed. The"_, and I translated the following, nigh-on unreadable word as meaning something like _'Speakers to the Beautiful Beasts'_ - summoners! - _"knew the ways of the Beautiful Beasts, and offered to seal Alexander away until that time came. The Three Great Kingdoms of the Continent of the Mist sent forth their best artisans to fashion a jewel of utmost beauty, which the Speakers to the Beautiful Beasts used to seal Alexander's power. For further security, this Summoning Gem was split into four equal shards."_

Grinning like a fool, I hurriedly read on. 

_"The first shard was granted to Eastern-most Alexandria, to whom Alexander ultimately owed its allegiance and birth - it was due to a culmination of the Kingdom's needs and Holy magic that the Beautiful Beast had been spawned there. To Southerly Lindblum, brotherly city to Alexandria, went the second shard, and to their Dragon-Knight allies of the West, the third shard was gifted. The final shard was kept by the people of Madain Sari, far to the North. While the Three Great Kingdoms maintained possession of their shards at the highest levels of royalty, the Speakers to the Beautiful Beasts kept theirs in the hands of a small, ordinary family bloodline, believing it to be less conspicuous that way for those who would turn Alexander's power to dark purposes . . ."_

There was little else of interest, but I had what I needed. So the Crystal was scattered across two continents, eh? While at first this seemed an inconvenience, I realised I could turn the situation to my advantage. 

From the way the 'Three Great Kingdoms' were referred to, this passage had to have been written about four hundred years ago. I remembered from my studies of Gaia's history that Lindblum was the oldest city, but not by far - it had first been named and defined as a city around five hundred years ago, and Alexandria had been founded by young members of the Lindblum Royal Family who had wanted to strike out on their own only a few decades later. Besides the odd case of sibling rivalry, Lindblum and Alexandria were famed for their close kinship. Even now, the current King Cid Fabool of the former was distant relative and close friend to the latter's well liked ruler and his wife. The discrepancy came with mention of the Dragon-Knights, who, as a race, had been acting intelligently for much longer than the humans of the Mist Continent had, but had generally kept themselves to themselves within the confines of their western lands. As a result they hadn't been 'classed' as a Kingdom until the then ruler of Lindblum had begun exploring their territory, discovered the quickly-growing city of Burmecia there and had offered a formal pact of mutual friendship, an event which, if my memory served, had occurred around four hundred and fifty years ago. 

The reason I deduced the text to be so old was that it didn't make mention of the fact that the Dragon-Knights had since gone through a civil war, consisting mainly of insults and accusations rather than actual fighting, that had split them into two factions - the official Royal Family and their followers, who had stayed in Burmecia, and the more pacific self-proclaimed 'Cleyrans', who, having been ordered to leave on account of treason, had promptly set up a new city, estranging themselves from the fellow members of their race. They had built their alternative home in the body of a giant tree trunk and its thousands of branches, and then used an unknown kind of magic to raise and maintain an impenetrable sandstorm around it, effectively cutting themselves off from the rest of the world in its entirety. Nothing had been heard from Cleyra since. 

The problem was that afterwards, the Burmecian Dragon-Knights had grown somewhat paranoid and distrustful of everyone who _wasn't_ Burmecian. The original pact had been broken, and though they still maintained a somewhat tentative 'friendship' with Lindblum, the Alexandrian rulers of the time had dubbed them cowards and an unstable settlement, causing the Burmecians to cut themselves off from Alexandria completely at the painful impingement on their honour, withdrawing further and further into complete isolation over the following centuries. 

Even three hundred years later, Alexandria's prejudices towards the Dragon-Knights were strong. Though the genuine name of their kind is 'dragoon', Alexandria and even people in Lindblum have taken to calling them 'rat-people', mostly out of ignorance of the truth, which has most likely been forgotten by now in those two most powerful Kingdoms, but also out of contempt for the Burmecians' behaviour back then and their appearance, shunning the dragoons' heritage as very, very distant descendants of dragonkind. Since the book didn't mention any of this, it had to have been written when relations between all three Kingdoms were good and strong. 

Meticulously, I began to take down the relevant passages word for word with the ink and paper I had brought with me, my mind rolling the possibilities of the crystal shards' whereabouts over and over. It was quite likely that all three of the so-called Great Kingdoms had forgotten the jewels' importance, relegating them to the rank of 'family heirloom'. Madain Sari's shard, though . . . was that why Garland had asked me to spare that family? No - he wouldn't have then known about my plans to obtain an eidolon like Alexander, so his purpose for doing that was different. Still, being the only remaining summoners, they would undoubtedly take it upon themselves to preserve the shard, wherever it might be - the people of Madain Sari were not the sort to forget tradition and their role in the protection and usage of eidolons. I could safely leave them until later. 

Gathering up my notes, I decided to stop off at Lindblum on the way back to my Desert Palace. Before any of my magnificent plans could be implemented, I needed to build my black mages, something that would probably take a lot of time to get right. 

But, if Garland could do it . . . 

. . . Then so could I. 

*** 

It felt . . . _good_ to get back to my mission. My temporary retreat from it, spent with Faowri, had been wonderfully restorative, but I had begun to subconsciously lose sight of my very purpose, which was my revenge on Garland. And leaping back into the task had renewed my determination to accomplish that goal. 

Still, I made time for her. Every few months or so, I would break off my almost inhuman focus on building a race of my own to control and visit Faowri and her father. Sometimes we would watch plays together - King was fond of holding private viewings in his auction house - and on other occasions I'd split my time equally between the Noble and his daughter. However important Faowri was growing to be to me, my friendship with Utendo King was also genuine and heartfelt. I knew it was a bad idea to grow close to either of them - after all, carrying on with my plans to destroy Garland might lead to the actual assimilation of Gaia, and, hence, their deaths. I would consider a way to save Faowri from that - it wouldn't matter much in the ailing King's case - but the question was whether or not she would want me to save her, once she learned I was responsible. Or even whether she would want to survive when everyone else would surely die. 

Her rejection would be . . . very painful. As it was, I wasn't even sure if she felt the same way about me as I did about her. Imagine if I attempted to save her alone from destruction, on the grounds of love, when the feeling wasn't even mutual! 

It was a bad thought to even consider. Faowri, King, _everyone_ had to come second until Garland was defeated. And then I would worry about what people thought of me. 

**End of Act 3: Scene 1 **


	14. Act 3: Scene 2

**Act 3: Scene 2**

My progress with the black mage project was halted for many, many months by my primary problem - how to animate them. Obviously, all the books on Gaia couldn't have told me how to create life. But I didn't want the black mages to be alive as such, I merely required them to be sentient, to follow orders even if it meant they were destroyed, and a conscience would impede that specification. Thus, it wasn't just a matter of providing them with souls. I needed something that would act like a soul, but not provide the awareness that people like myself were gifted, or possibly cursed, with. 

I started small. The first black mage, my first prototype, would stand at a little over three foot. It's difficult to explain their actual construction. I got hold of suitable clothing - a mage's hat, a wizard's waistcoat and other items of interest to fit the somewhat bulky design - but this was the only physical material I used. The mage's body, if I got this right, would be made entirely from black magic. 

There had to be a substitute for a genuine soul! Garland had Terra's almost infinite supply of them for his creations, even if, so far, he'd granted only the Second and I a real soul. What did I have to work with? The Invincible's growing collection was off-limits - I would need it for later. And all of Gaia's other free-roaming souls were locked up in the Iifa Tree . . . 

That was it. 

Thousands of years ago, Garland had planted the Iifa Seed on Gaia, and as it had grown in size and power, it had barred souls their entry into the usual endless cycle every planet had. That was its purpose: to filter out Gaia's souls so that, eventually, they could be replaced with Terra's flow during the assimilation. And those stagnant souls were physically ejected from the soulstream . . . as Mist. 

Taking the components of my prototype with me, I mounted the silver dragon, and we soared in the direction of the magnificent, tortuous, sentient Iifa Tree. 

My anger and surprise at finding said Tree completely sealed off were heartfelt. My senses told me that powerful souls, exempt from the Mist itself, were present, but I could neither see them nor access them. I suspected they were eidolons, and _that_ meant that summoners were behind the intense seal. I tried every cancellation and shattering spell that I knew on the barrier, and expended even my vast inventory of magic in doing so. Nothing worked, and for a moment I was at a loss. It would take a genuine summoner to break the seal - and that had to be the reason why Garland had forced me to spare that family in Madain Sari. 

Of course, I could scarcely force them to do it - from my readings, I knew summoners to be a stubborn bunch, who would probably rather die than see eidolons used for negative purposes. Therefore, I would just have to wait until fate dealt me a decent hand for once, and had the summoners open up the Iifa Tree of their own free will. 

And this meant that I had to find another source of the Mist. Right at the ejection point, the Mist would have been easier to manipulate, but beggars can't be choosers. The roots of the Iifa Tree, however, plunged deep into Gaia's body, penetrating her against her will, and crawled back up for oxygen on the south-easterly continent of the world. Thus, the Mist Continent itself became my next port of call. 

*** 

Time for a geography lesson. 

Just as the book about summoners said, the three main kingdoms of the Mist Continent were balanced across the four directions. In the immense valley beneath Alexandria, the northeasterly city, a Mist-spawned forest of vast proportions sat like a pulsing tumour. 

It pulsed because it was sentient. The Iifa Roots had spread far and wide, but because the majority of the planet's population resided on the Mist Continent, they had been drawn here in particular, as any plant will be drawn to the most abundant sources of its needs and, in the Iifa's case, its _wants_. 

The inhabitants had given the woodland the rather uninspiring label of Evil Forest. This name grated against my imagination, but it _was_ appropriate, nevertheless. It was formed from Iifa Spores that had erupted from the ground with the first of the great Tree's roots, and had subsequently germinated in the Mist that had pumped out of those twisting tendrils. 

Evil Forest thrived on that Mist. And as it swelled in size like the cancer of the planet that it was, drawing water from the lake it had grown up around, and replacing its need for sunlight with the despicable fog that was made up of stagnant souls and no less, it actually succeeded in _spreading_ the Mist further. I suspected that this was the only reason the Iifa Tree had allowed its nightmarish life to continue - it would despise any competitors, being an innately selfish creature, even if that competitor was its own offspring, but Evil Forest had killed its fair share of travelling wanderers, adding to the soul flow rather than depleting it. Thus, it allowed the Iifa Tree's reach to extend further across the Mist Continent - the Gunitas Basin was full of Mist, the stuff so thick and oppressive that Evil Forest was the _only_ thing that could survive down there for very long. 

I said before that Evil Forest was a suitable name for the woodland, and I wasn't joking. A nightmare in grey, green and black, filled with quivering, whispering, _living_ tendrils and violent, insect-plant hybrid creatures that the Forest itself formed from the Mist it revelled in, as a defensive mechanism against other organisms. There was, in the very air, a sense of being not watched, but _stalked_. Everything about the woodland was warped, twisted, but ultimately alive. Even the water was tainted - it lapped possessively around your ankles, trying to drag you under. The Forest didn't feel, as such, but it reacted, every twig and leaf of it, and every reaction was generally an attempt to rid itself of intrusive organisms - such as myself. 

I was trying to breathe shallowly; Mist is notoriously bad for your system. Obviously, it's even worse for those like me, Garland and, dare I mention the dead, the Second, because we're so sensitive to soul activity. The Mist was comprised of souls that, while stagnant, were still souls in essence, and it was akin to being surrounded by thousands of people, all brushing against you, all chattering loudly and invasively. 

Besides which, Mist burned the throat and seared the lungs with a kind of fiery, bristling ice. Shuddering, I pressed onwards. 

I came to Evil Forest because I wanted to study that defence mechanism. I needed to learn how to create sentient beings from Mist alone, and this woodland had accomplished that, however instinctively. I knew that a system as complex as Evil Forest could not be a unanimous effort of every sentient tree and plant, because it wasn't like an ordinary woodland area. It behaved like a body, perhaps a human body. Mist ran through its veins; it visibly breathed and moved; it grew as it aged; and it rejected foreign bodies with its severely aggressive answer to antibodies in the bloodstream. 

Thus, it had to have a brain. 

I found it during the second day of wandering through the sweaty, chilling terrain. The forest was already in a state of panic - I had myself simultaneously wrapped within the spells Vanish and Float, so that the plants and trees could sense me there, but could neither see nor feel me. Even though these are relatively simple spells, it was draining to keep them both weaved around me at the same time. Still, they allowed me to sit cross-legged in the plant brain's nest without physical detection. 

That the bulbous, writhing, tentacled mass knew I was there was enough to make it produce more Mist monsters, though. I sat there for many hours, not just watching it work but _feeling_ it, sensing what it did to the stagnant souls to transform them so. The creatures it formed couldn't really be classed as intelligent - they followed the innate orders of the plant brain as instinct, without giving them so much as a thought. But this was exactly what I wanted my black mages to do, so I paid the master of Evil Forest my full attention. 

It was fascinating to watch. As disgusting as the plant brain was, its method of spawning monster after monster from the Mist was a natural kind of genius - efficient, fairly simple, and with little energy required. Discovering it wasn't a 'eureka' kind of revelation for me, because there wasn't one key point that I had missed. It was a process, a series of actions to do, but nevertheless I was elated at finding it out at all. 

On my way back out of Evil Forest, I came across a moogle. Despite the little faery's surprise to find an invisible shape addressing it, it was surprisingly compliant. 

"If you can find Mojito," I told it, "I'd be grateful if you could tell him that Kuja requires his next report." 

"Can do, kupo!" the moogle chirped back, and I left it to its own devices. 

Upon exiting the woodland, I summoned the silver dragon. Within moments, it had landed in my proximity, and I leapt up onto it, urging it to the top of the cliffs, where the Mist wasn't nearly so thick. The sudden silence of soul activity was bliss. 

"If I can help it," I informed the silver dragon, "I am _never_ going that deep into Mist for that long ever again. For a while I thought I was going to lose my _mind_ . . ." 

_"But you have what you desired,"_ it reassured me. _"Now all that is needed is to put it into practise."_

I coughed raggedly. "There's plenty of time, and I need to get this Mist out of my system." 

The dragon craned its neck, and glanced at the glaring lights of Treno in the near distance. _"To Faowri's?"_

"No," I said without hesitation. "She'll worry if she sees me so exhausted. Let's head home for now. We'll return in a few days with the prototype, to this exact spot, and I will begin." 

_"As you wish."_

I was glad that the dragon didn't object to long distance flying. The heat of the continent that currently served as my home would do well to restore my battered senses, which were so sore that I even spared a fleeting moment for pitying the Second, who, even if he hadn't drowned, would surely have died from being exposed to so much Mist. At least I could, and did, blast myself with a dozen Esunas to purify my spirit - the Second would have had none of that, even if he had, by some fluke, reached a shore. 

_"It seems to me that there is still a doubt in your mind as to his death,"_ the silver dragon commented absently. 

"Perhaps there is . . . I suppose I shouldn't have done it so indirectly. But, come on, let's be honest: what are the chances?" 

_"Nothing is impossible. There is every chance. You once told me that Fate deals hands as well or as badly as she sees fit."_

I sneered. "That was just a . . . well, maybe you're right. Maybe he did survive. But, if he did, the chances of him not being a vegetable after so much Mist inhalation are even lower than the probability of him being alive at all." 

The dragon grumbled uncertainly. 

"And the chances of him being alive, not being a vegetable, and being able to do anything to get in my way at all are virtually non-existent. Who would believe him about Terra, about Garland, about me?" 

_" . . . Perhaps you are right."_

"Good!" 

_"But, perhaps you are not."_

"Not good." 

_"Fate will decide . . . you will just have to wait and see."_

And that was exactly what we decided to do. 

*** 

It was a grim, grey morning when we returned four days later. The Mist was thicker than ever, swirling sickeningly through the valley below. At its present density, a person would not be able to last more than a day in it without losing their minds or gaining permanent respiratory problems, at the very least. 

Fortunately, I was above it. Well, I stood where it dissipated into the air, at any rate. The prototype was seated on the grassy floor, propped up by its own awkward weight. 

For a long while, I did nothing but stare at it, contemplating what I was about to do, and 'feeling' the dead souls whirling around me. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still hear the quiet, varying patterns of thoughts that had been the last ever transmitted by the owners of the souls. Was it just a case of snagging a random one, and inebriating the prototype with it? That seemed almost too simple, but that was all that the brain of Evil Forest did. 

How did Garland choose? Granted, he had live, viable souls to work with but even these dead ones still retained a vestige of their former consciousnesses. Whose soul did I possess? It had certainly belonged to someone else before my Maker had infused it with my body. My own personality seemed to have eroded away whatever essences of its previous owner might have remained. Still, it isn't pleasant to know that your existence is a mere hand-me-down. 

Hah! Like Garland would give a damn what soul went where. Otherwise, I might not have been so rebellious, and the Second not so pathetically sympathetic. So, I could follow on from the mistakes he had made - I would choose weak souls, the kind that wouldn't question a superior's authority. The kind that wouldn't talk back to you - the kind that had no free will, no emotions to personalise their pseudo-lives. 

_"Kuja."_

Scowling at the silver dragon's intrusion of my concentration, I glared at it. "What?" 

_"There are human beings not far from here."_

"Yes. In Treno. I know." 

_"No. I mean that there is a group of wandering humans. I believe they are out hunting."_

I sighed. "How do you know?" 

_"I smell them. I hear their footfalls."_

"Gods, something always has to get in the way, doesn't it? Can you give me any more details? The Mist is thickest here along the cliffs, but I don't want interference from the residents of Gaia, if at all possible." 

_"From the footsteps, I'd estimate three or four of them. Their scent is earthy, damp."_

"Earthy?" I took a long look in the direction the silver dragon was pointing to with its head. Through the thinning Mist, I could see the outline of the border gateway. "Probably from Dali, then. It's a farming town, not doing so well lately. I've heard that the menfolk are having to go out and hunt for food to make up for the poor harvests this year." 

The dragon snorted. _"Little more than arachnid prey around Treno. I should know. It tastes very rancid."_

"Oh? What do you prefer?" 

_"The Yans from the lands to the west are most enjoyable, if difficult to kill."_

"Hmm. I shan't ask. How far away are these hunters?" 

It cocked its head to one side, and fixed me with its blue gaze. _"Not far. They shall cross this area soon, if they keep going. Should we move?"_

"No. If worse comes to worst, I'll just kill them." 

_" . . . that would be a little cruel."_

"This is a fine time to display your conscience!" I berated the dragon amusedly. "The quicker I get this done, the less chance of me having to actually do that!" 

To demonstrate my focus, I shook out my arms and returned my attention to the prototype. 

It's difficult to explain in words how I did it. Looking back, I can only remember the blur of emotions and thoughts that passed through my mind as I bestowed false life upon the black mage. There was the maelstrom of restless souls streaming endlessly around me, and I diverted that flow towards the prototype. This, I intertwined with pure black magic, drawn from shadows of the elements of Gaia. I couldn't contain a cry of delight when the stack of clothes and material began to shudder. The half-sentient soul of the black mage began to grow aware, so I quickly started to seal its innate abilities away. Once this was done, the creature would lose its capacity to choose, and thus its appreciation of morality . . . 

_"Kuja!"_

Startled out of the steady trance I must have been engaged in for several minutes, I accidentally shattered the metaphorical seal. 

"Damn!" 

I whirled to face the suspicious, approaching hunters, my favourite Flare spell already glowing in my right hand . . . 

. . . and the silver dragon lurched towards me with a blasting roar that shook the entire cliff top. To avoid hitting the infernal beast, I swung the gathering magic out to the right, where the accumulated energy struck the ground bare metres away and flung me backwards. My left side hit solid ground, and I immediately attempted to prop myself up with both arms. 

The right one plunged into empty air. Momentary panic seized me when I realised that I was balanced right on the cliff's edge, but a surge of anger was enough to propel me back to my feet. 

The hunters were gone. Apparently, the proximity of a hulking silver dragon and the sight of spontaneous combustion had sent them running. But they didn't even account for _half_ the source of my fury. 

My prototype black mage was _gone_. Where, I didn't know, but the bundle of clothes that had filled with pure black magic and an unsealed soul was not sitting where I had left it. 

Maintaining a firm tone, the silver dragon said: _"There was no need to attack those hunters on account of your impatience, Kuja."_

I continued to stare at the spot the little black mage had previously occupied. If it had fallen off the cliff . . . or maybe it had escaped across the clifftop, towards the forest! 

_"You have been gifted with phenomenal powers, Kuja, but you do not yet appreciate -"_

"Gods_dammit_, will you shut up?" I screamed. "This is your fault! They were just hunters, for crying out loud! Lowly, peasant hunters from a lowly, tiny, insignificant little village! No one would have cared what happened to them. No one would probably even notice they were gone. And now I've lost the product of four _years_ of work, silver dragon!" 

_"You did manage it before it went wrong. You can easily make another now."_

"It was a prototype! An experiment! I don't have it perfected; I don't even know how the bloody thing turned out! Don't you understand how much time and effort and energy has just been swallowed up in the Mist? Why now, of all times, do you decide to grow morals, eh? I wish that damn spell had bloody well hit you!" 

The silver dragon regarded me very coolly throughout my heartfelt rant. _"You can't just kill anything that crosses your path, Kuja. It was not my fault that you could not wait until the hunters were gone to continue the experiment."_

"Just shut up and start flapping! We have to search for the prototype now -" 

_"I think not. I think you need time to cool down, Kuja. And that time would be best spent alone."_

The dragon did start flapping its wings; unfortunately, I was not riding it at the time. 

"Wait!" _You treacherous, foul-minded, interfering, deserting little - _

"Calm down, Kuja. When your mind is clearer, I will return to you." 

And then, for the first time ever, it blocked my thoughts from its own, and launched itself into the sky, gone from view before I even had time to blink. 

There must have been about fifteen seconds of silence, before I vehemently toasted the nearest stand of trees with a Firaga spell. Apparently, this was just not going to be my day. 

**End of Act 3: Scene 2 **


	15. Act 3: Scene 3

**Act 3: Scene 3**

Eight hours of trampling through the undergrowth of the thick forests at the top of the cliffs revealed no prototype. By then, a blind man could have followed my progress, simply by feeling for all of the charred tree stumps I left in my wake. 

I emerged from the woodland a very unhappy man. 

The prototype was gone. That much was certain. If only that wretched silver dragon had helped me search, I might have been able to find it, but I couldn't even reach the creature - there was a very solid wall where its thoughts should have been. 

It was right about one thing though; I needed to calm down. It's impossible for one's thoughts to be coherent when anger is the predominant emotion. 

For the remainder of the day, I hunted the arachnid creatures that roamed the heights around Treno. I kept going until my spirit was flagging and I was forced to sit down and gulp down an ether or two. After that, I felt considerably calmer, but night was approaching, and my eyes were drawn to the not-so-distant lights of Treno. The silver dragon was obviously showing no signs of returning anytime soon, so Faowri was my only option - there was _no way_ I was sleeping out in the open without a tent, at least. 

The majority of my anger depleted, I was nothing short of exhausted when I finally reached Treno. The fairly short trek through the town led me to the side door of King's mansion, and I banged the ornate bronze knocker and waited. 

"The residents of the King Manor do not wish to be disturbed," a muffled voice called from inside. 

I raised an eyebrow; this had never happened before. "Manchi, is that you? It's Kuja!" 

"Oh!" 

The sound of locks being pulled open was followed by the door swinging out and a flash of Manchi's desperate-looking face. 

"Master Kuja! You have to come in right away!" 

"What's wrong?" 

And then I became aware of the dead silence and stillness within the hall. The mansion was always full of some noise or other - servants going about their business, other Nobles visiting King . . . 

My throat locked. "Oh, no . . . he hasn't . . ." 

Manchi bowed his head. "You have to go and see Lady Faowri. There's something wrong with her! She hasn't slept for three days, ever since . . ." 

"I see." I keenly felt the loss of Utendo - he had been a good friend to me ever since we had met. But if something were wrong with Faowri, mourning would have to wait. "Take me to her?" 

Manchi sighed with relief, nodded quickly and ushered me towards the staircase. As we ascended to the second floor, the young servant began wringing his hands and talking in a low voice. 

"She found him, you see, when she went to read to him like she always does. Did. She hasn't left his chamber since the body was removed. She refused to attend the funeral. She won't eat anything, and we _know_ she's not sleeping at all - we can hear her moving around in the room and talking . . ." 

"What does she say?" 

"Not sure. She seems to be talking to herself, though . . ." 

I bit my lip, glancing to the left once we were on the landing. Faowri's bedroom door was ajar, and the bed hadn't been slept in for a while, it seemed. Manchi paused outside King's room, from inside which a considerable amount of noise was emanating. 

"If anyone can get through to her, it's you, Master Kuja," Manchi said entreatingly. 

"I'll do my best." 

He opened the door, and I slipped inside, listening to it close behind me. 

Utendo King's room was painfully identical to before his death. The bed was clean and made, albeit devoid of its usual occupant. The major difference was that the majority of his belongings were arranged in piles all over the room. Behind the four-poster bed, I could see Faowri rummaging around in a large chest, muttering to herself. 

"Uh . . . Faowri?" 

She didn't hesitate in her searching. I don't think she even noticed that I was there until I approached her from behind and laid a hand on her shoulder. At that contact, she jumped half out of her skin and swung her head around to look at me. 

"Kuja! What a pleasant surprise!" 

Faowri stood up, patting her dusty hands down on her coat. I stared at her - at the dark circles under her eyes, at the wraith-like thinness her body had withered away to, but most of all at the blankness of her expression. 

"Faowri, what are you -" 

"Manchi let you in, right? Come over here, we have business to attend to." 

"But -" 

"These", and she waved a hand at a two huge piles of books sitting on the bed, "are yours. He wanted you to have them. They don't interest me all that much." 

I spared a half-hearted glance, noting that the name 'Avon' was on most of the book jackets. There were several dozen other literary works there, but at the moment, even this impressive collection didn't interest me. 

"Faowri, your father has just -" 

"I know, isn't it annoying?" she smiled cheerfully. "He's left me with so much junk to deal with. I'm going to have to go through his entire will and sort everything out . . . could take me ages!" 

I folded my arms and frowned. "And when do you plan to eat? Sleep? _Grieve_?" 

She flapped a hand irritably at me. "I'm not hungry, tired or sad, Kuja. I'm perfectly fine." 

"The condition you're in tells me otherwise." 

Anger flashed briefly in her eyes. "Don't tell me what I need, Kuja. I said I was fine. I've been dealing with family death since the day I was born. You don't look too good yourself." 

"Don't change the subject." I moderated my tone to make sure she knew I was genuinely concerned for her health. "Please, just sit down for a minute?" 

"No need," she snapped coldly. There was a lapse in her forced cheerfulness, during which she ran a shaky hand across her eyes. "Now, are you going to help or hinder me? I have a lot to do . . ." 

I regarded her sadly, and placed a hand gently on her arm. 

"You know, you can always cry, if you want to," I told her. 

Faowri stared hatefully at me. "I don't cry. I'm not sad, dammit! I'm not crying!" With that, she spun out of my grasp and threw herself down onto the bed, her arms folded and her face hidden from view by her ever-present hat. Sighing, I sat down beside her, and, reaching up firmly, removed her hat from her head. 

She moved to protest, but I caught her wrist in my free hand. 

"Don't hide, Faowri. I _know_ that you're crying inside." 

The mage continued to stare angrily at me, but I held my ground, and her wrist. 

"I'm worried about you. If you want to talk, I'll listen. If you want to cry, I'll lend a shoulder. But for the gods' sake, you can't just hold it in! You have to let it out! You have to allow yourself time to grieve, or you'll always be tied down with those unrequited feelings. Do you understand?" 

The fire in her eyes gradually began to melt away, and she averted her gaze from mine. An idiot would have been able to see the torment raging around in her head right then, so I dropped the hat, gently touched her chin and forced eye contact. 

"Do you understand?" I asked again. 

A stunned, distraught look had replaced the blank expression on her face, and she nodded weakly. "I'm sorry. It's just . . ." 

She went limp and started to tremble so hard that I gripped her shoulders in alarm. 

"Faowri?" 

The red mage collapsed against my chest, and began to sob. There was nothing else I could do, except hold her tight and wait for her tears to abate. 

They weren't going to do so anytime soon, though. Faowri cried until she had nothing left, and was dry-retching. Eventually, she became silent. 

"Faowri, are you okay?" 

I tilted her head a little - her tear-streaked face was still, and her eyes closed, her breathing easier than before. It looked like she'd simply collapsed with exhaustion. Glancing at the ticking clock on the bedside table, I was surprised to see how long we'd been sitting here. 

Removing Faowri from my arms, I laid her down carefully on the overcrowded bed and crept over to the door, although I doubted that an earthquake would wake her from her current slumber. Manchi was still waiting outside for news. 

"She's okay," I whispered, "but I think she should rest in her own room." 

"Of course." Manchi bowed. "Her room is already prepared." 

Leaving the door open, I returned to Faowri's limp body and lifted her up into my arms, unable to contain my concerned surprise at how light she felt. If I had left it any longer to intervene, she might have starved herself to death. 

She didn't stir once, even when I gently laid her down in her own bed and pulled the covers over her. I wondered what she would think if she could see me hovering hesitantly over her; if she could notice how gently I positioned her on the bed, or how fondly I raised the sheets to protect her prone body from the cold the manor seemed to suffer from at that time of year. 

"Master Kuja?" Manchi's uncertain voice called softly from the doorway. "Would you like your old room to be made up for you?" 

"That's all right, Manchi. I'll stay with her, to make sure she's okay." 

"Very well. I'm sure Lady Faowri will appreciate that. I'll bring some things over for you, is that okay?" 

I turned and smiled at the servant. "That will be fine, thank you." 

Manchi bobbed courteously and disappeared for a moment, returning with a few warm-looking sheets, an extra pair of burning candles, and a couple of theatre books. I appreciated the thoughtfulness, but tiredness hit me like a brick wall the second the door closed for a final time, and I was too weary to read a single word. 

I pulled a chair up to the bed, becoming all too keenly aware of the coldness of the room right then. However, for a moment, I was content to sit with my elbows on the high bed, watching the light from the candles playing on Faowri's stricken features. Before I had chance to put the blankets to good use, my exhaustion must have overtaken my willpower, because the next thing I knew, I was enveloped in warm, dreamless sleep. 

*** 

The chiming of a clock woke me up eventually. My head was resting on my arms, which were folded on the bed, and I had drooled on my left one - not a dignified way to start the day, let alone a paragraph. 

Still, a swift glance at the offending object told me that it was only five in the morning. I'd been out for about three hours, not half as long as I needed to recuperate from the mental and physical strains of the previous day. The semi-darkness of the room was somehow comforting, but the cold certainly wasn't. Shivering, I sat up wearily and glanced at Faowri, who hadn't apparently moved an inch since I had last looked at her. Since she needed the sleep, I certainly wasn't going to deprive her of it. 

Blankets. Manchi had left me blankets and I wanted them before I attempted to get back to sleep. It seemed to be getting colder by the second, now that I was awake to feel the temperature. 

I spied the thick sheets, folded neatly in a pile on a small dressing table a couple of metres to my left. Lying in such an awkward position had given me backache, so I took the opportunity to stretch as I scooped them up and prepared to arrange them in a way that would keep me suitably warm. 

The pain started small and abruptly grew in intensity until I was forced to my knees. Of all the stupid, inconsiderate, inappropriate times . . . 

I looked up. Garland's image was standing over Faowri. His mouth was pulled to one side in a disapproving frown. 

_"She's not even all that much to look at."_

"Pompous bastard," I growled. "You keep away from her!" 

Garland grinned unpleasantly. _"I'd expect someone as flamboyant as you to go for a real lady, Kuja. This tomboyish mage is not what I expected at all."_

"I'd be more offended if you and I shared the same tastes in women, Garland. Besides, I don't see what concern it is of yours." I also couldn't hide my apprehension at his proximity to her. 

My Maker chuckled. _"What's the problem, Kuja? As much as I'd like to 'damage' the person who is causing you so many distractions, I'm not physically here, so I can't."_

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Then what do you want?" 

_"To tell you that you are pushing my patience to the limit."_ The old man turned to face me. _"You continue to waste your time here, despite what I said to you before. Do you think I'm not taking this seriously?"_

"I'm getting the job done," I snarled. "And at my own pace. If you want it done well, you'd do well to leave me to it." 

Garland maintained his spiteful expression. _"Stop pretending to be something you're not. When this 'Faowri' finds out about what you really do in your spare time, she'll hate you anyway. Hasn't that occurred to you?"_

"Then I'd best make the most of what time I have. Which was an indirect way of saying _Leave me the hell alone_!" 

My Maker hissed softly under his breath. Unable to resist pushing him, I grinned. 

"I bet you're pining for that second-rate Genome right now, aren't you? Wishing it were him here instead of me? Oh, I bet you'd have loved that! A little, easy-to-manipulate puppet. One whisper of a compliment in the Second's ear and he'd've licked your boots clean! Well, you need me, so you're going to have to put up with me." 

He narrowed his eyes and straightened to his formidable height. _"The Second was ten times the Angel of Death you are."_

"Don't be ridiculous! The little brat couldn't zip up his own Genome suit without your guidance and approval." 

_"Envy is the ugliest sin of all."_

"Oh, get out of my head! I can think of better things I could be doing right now instead of talking to _you_. Like gouging my eyes out with a red-hot poker, for instance." 

_"Very well."_ Garland smiled unnervingly, his wiry white moustache twitching at the formation of the expression. _"But bear this in mind, Kuja. I have more power than you dare to think. Get yourself back in line or there will be . . .consequences."_

"You're a walking cliché, you old fool," I said with a sneer, but forgot his limitations when he extended his clawed, metallic fingers over Faowri's head, and thrust them down towards her. 

Without thinking, I leapt to my feet and cried out in protest. Flinging myself at the bed, Garland's deep-throated laughter was only just dying in my ears when Faowri's eyes snapped open with terror. 

"What the _hell_ is . . . _Kuja?_ What are you _doing_?" 

My hands either side of her on the bed, and my face mere inches from hers, I knew that the scene looked _very_ messy. 

"Ah . . . I had a nightmare." 

She raised an eyebrow. "And it was your turn to come to me for comfort?" 

From the hoarseness and tremors of her voice, I thought she was being serious until I noticed a hint of her former cynical humour in her clouded blue eyes, and then I grinned sheepishly. 

"Gut reaction," I shrugged, and moved away from her before I did something I would probably regret. 

Faowri sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. Even in the darkness, she looked pale and worried. She noticed the chair by the bed where I had been resting and looked at me again. "You stayed with me?" 

"I could scarcely leave you, the state you were in," I responded softly. 

" . . . one of the servants could have stayed." 

"Would you have preferred that?" 

"Not at all. Thank you, Kuja. For more than just that. I'm . . . sorry and embarrassed that you had to see me in such a state." 

I turned around to face her, caught the sincere remorse and discomfort in her expression, and sighed. "Not your fault, Faowri. How do you feel now?" 

Abruptly, she grinned. "Hungry, actually." 

"Can't say I'm all that surprised," I laughed. 

Faowri shivered, drawing the blankets closer to her. "It got cold all of a sudden. Now that I think of it . . ." A mischievous expression formed on her face. "I can't remember the last time I snuck down to the kitchens to grab a midnight snack." 

"I'm presuming that sort of thing is forbidden?" 

"Well, the chef is very territorial when it comes to the kitchen. He insists that everything in it be touched by himself and his staff alone. But I always used to creep down there when I was a child. The fact that it was forbidden was half the fun, I suppose. Well, are you up for it?" 

Her smile was daring, and I echoed it. "If the Lady wishes to be fed . . ." 

"She does. Quite emphatically." 

"Then lead the way!" 

*** 

This was her way of dealing with the grief. I knew that, but played along anyway, because she wanted . . . _needed_ to be strong. It was a part of her character, that bold, almost cocky confidence. She had to hold onto it to get through her loss. 

Her assumption that I could appreciate the irony of this situation, with reference to the childish antics of a pair of adults, pained me somewhat. Doing what was forbidden was not new to me, but doing it for _fun_ was. Besides, I'd always had much more at risk than a simple reprimand. Garland would most likely have used any excuse to kill me if he hadn't needed me alive to do his work for him, once the Second was out of the way. 

Faowri remained blissfully unaware of this as she urged me to follow her down the carpeted staircase, carrying a single candle to fend off the thick darkness enveloping us. We reached the main hall without so much as a creak, and the mage nodded towards the kitchens. Once inside, she set the candle on a low table and began to furtively rummage around in the nearest cupboards. I stood by the candle, trying to gain as much heat from it as I could and watching her as she made herself the fastest sandwich I had ever seen prepared. 

It was funny; I had always imagined aristocrats to have delicate culinary skills, but Faowri was rough, careless and speedy in her activities. Then again, if aristocrats had chefs to cook their meals, why would they ever need to learn how to cook? 

"You want anything?" she hissed. 

I shook my head. Shrugging, she perched herself on the table and ravenously began to consume the sandwich. I watched with deep fascination. Finishing it in a matter of minutes, she then licked each finger clean, one by one. 

"You have some interesting little habits," I grinned. 

Pausing, Faowri looked at me. "You're one to talk!" 

". . . I don't have any habits." 

"You do, too! You do that, that, that hair-flick thing." She demonstrated with one hand, brushing her hair back from her face and simultaneously swinging her head in the same direction. 

"I do not!" I laughed, and to my extreme disgust, did exactly what I had just been accused of doing on a regular basis. 

Faowri pressed a finger to her lips, suppressing a chuckle of her own. "Hush! Lady of the house or not, the chef will kick my arse if he finds me in here. Let's go." 

"Back to the bedroom?" 

"No, it's too cold upstairs. Come with me!" 

She grabbed my hand in one of hers, and the candle in the other, and dragged me out of the kitchen, surveying it once before leaving to make sure that everything still looked the way it had before we had intruded. Once out in the main hall yet again, Faowri pushed me in the direction of a simple, non-descript door. 

"Go in there and start the fire up. I'll be back in a minute," she whispered, handing me the candle. Her footfalls almost silent on the thick carpets, she disappeared into the gloom near the stairs. 

Puzzled, I nonetheless pushed the door open. Beyond lay a large sitting room - my eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and I could make out an overly grand fireplace at the end. A furry, expensive-looking rug sat in front of it. Strangely enough, the actual chairs were fairly far back from this main feature. Shrugging, I moved towards the fireplace, happy to see fresh logs already in place. 

There was an antique lighter, unoriginally dragon-shaped, wedged in the poker rack. I removed it, aimed it at the logs, and stoked the fire. By the time the door creaked open to allow Faowri access, it was blazing nicely, and I was squatting in front of it, relishing the warmth. I turned back to her and raised my eyebrows to see her struggling with a heavy blanket. It was apparently caught on the doorframe. 

"Oh, come on, you bastard," I heard her mutter, to my complete astonishment, and then hurried over to her when the blanket obeyed her commands, snapped free of the lintel and sent her flying backwards into an ornate dresser. 

"What are you _doing_?" I hissed, crouching beside her. 

Faowri sat up, rubbing her head, and clapped a hand over my mouth, listening intently for any indication that her antics had alerted the other residents of the house. After a few moments of silence, she breathed a sigh of relief and motioned towards the fireplace. 

"Why are you so concerned about them anyway?" I asked after we'd been sitting in front of the flames for a long moment. "It's not like they can tell you off. It's your manor." 

Faowri shivered. The mage had the heavy blanket around her shoulders. She'd already offered to share it and I had declined. 

"I don't like being mollycoddled," she announced. "They worry about me too much. And they've probably slept as little as I have lately. Let's give them a break." 

"I'm sorry, Faowri. I know how close you two were . . ." 

"I knew it was going to happen. _He_ knew it was going to happen. I should've been more prepared, but I . . . I just snapped. I couldn't face it . . ." She sighed briskly. "But it doesn't matter. His death isn't what bothers me so much, however cold that sounds." 

I looked up at her. "Oh?" 

"His will . . . is quite conclusive." She hugged her knees to her chest, appearing quite frail in the firelight. "I know someone had to stay here to look after the family assets but I never wanted to be an _aristocrat_. I want to be a red mage. My apprenticeship finishes soon, and I can earn my mastery, but . . ." 

" . . . but?" 

"I can't continue if I have to stay here. I'd have to quit." 

Faowri? Quitting? The idea was so preposterous that it was little wonder she disliked it so much. 

"However . . . there is another option open to me." 

I raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?" 

"I can split the inheritance, share the burden with someone else, who can take care of things when I'm away studying and performing my duties as a red mage." 

"Wait a second . . . you're thinking of me, aren't you? Faowri, I -" 

"Well, I was rather hoping you'd consider it," she admitted slowly. "It would have to be someone my father would approve of. I guess you could say I've been grooming you, in a way, for the part, ever since you fell through my roof." 

"You mean . . . you've planned this from the start?" I half-laughed. "Well, that was mighty presumptuous of you, wasn't it?" 

"Please, Kuja." Faowri turned her blue eyes on me, not exactly pleadingly, but not far from that description either. "I don't want to stay cooped up forever in this place. If we're accepted as partners then -" 

"Partners? You're not . . . you're not asking me to . . . you aren't offering _marriage_, are you?" 

Faowri stared at me for a long second, and then burst into a fit of laughter. Tears streamed down her face as she fought for breath, clutching her sides in agony. I stared at her with wide eyes and a jaw that had hit the floor some time ago until she managed to overcome the convulsions. 

"Kuja, you kill me!" she wheezed, wiping water from her eyes and cheeks. "I didn't mean anything so serious! The look on your face . . ." Faowri almost started again, her shoulders trembling with laughter. 

"Oh, stop it!" I hissed, flapping a hand at her. 

"What I meant _was_", she continued after she had caught her breath back, "sort of like business partners. You sign your name to a document, and you have complete access to my family's assets. There's plenty of it, and you can use it for whatever you wish, for whatever little secret agenda you have going that I am not privy to. That is what will benefit _you_. And I know father would have approved of you . . ." 

"That's why you made sure I spent time with him." 

She sniffed. "Yes. I . . . I didn't mean to do this behind your back but I couldn't face the thought of being stuck here alone. So many ghosts and bad memories . . . but you don't have to. I'm a big girl, now, I can . . . I can take it." 

A single tear streaked down her cheek, and she irritably wiped it away. 

I sighed, and smiled as I turned to face her. "Faowri, of course I'll do it." 

She blinked. "You will?" 

"As long as you understand that I can't be here _all_ the time . . ." 

"Oh, I know, I understand, you don't have to be . . ." Her face broke out in a smile and she leapt on me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. In my ear, she whispered: "Thank you." 

I found myself unable to resist returning the embrace, and used the short time to simply relax in her close company. The top of her head was in my view, and I noted with surprise, now that her hat was absent from it, that her exploits into _red magerie_ were already taking effect on her - the roots of her ebony hair were whitening. Fairly soon, all the black would be bleached away. Absently, I wondered if my affinity for magic was the reason for my own odd hair colour, but I doubted it. Genomes simply weren't the same as humans, no matter how similar our appearances were. 

I coughed after that moment's reflection, and Faowri sheepishly let go of me. However, she didn't move quite so far away this time. We were quiet for some time. 

Her snort of laughter broke the spell. 

"Marriage," she giggled, and punched me playfully on the arm. "Who'd want to marry _you_?" 

**End of Act 3: Scene 3 **


	16. Act 3: Scene 4

**Act 3: Scene 4**

My curling, fanciful signature looked quite at home on the ivory scroll. I studied it for a long moment, and then at Faowri's much blunter marking, before passing the document back to her. 

"And that's it?" 

"What more did you expect?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly at me. "That's it. This manor and all income and finances related to it are now half yours." 

I narrowed my eyes. "That wasn't why I did this . . ." 

"I know." She sighed, and the hat she'd previously been holding in one hand was pulled firmly back onto her head. "And now I have to get ready." 

"Ready?" I slipped out of the chair, dropping the quill back into the inkpot and hurrying to catch up with Faowri as she turned and exited the small study, the document held tightly in her hand. "For what?" 

Out in the corridor, she whipped her red cloak from the hat-stand it had been hanging from for a fairly long while, and swung it over her shoulders. "I told you last night . . . or this morning, I suppose. I'm going to finish my apprenticeship and earn my mastery as a red mage." 

"Right now?" 

Faowri nodded. "My mentor will be here soon. I'll go with him." 

Gnawing on my lower lip, I paused mid-stride. "Faowri, I can't be here all the time in your absence . . ." 

"I know that. Kuja, I meant what I said before - whatever little secret agenda you have going, feel free to spend on it. By helping me, you've earned my lack of intrusion. And I know you won't be here all the time . . . but if you could come back to check up occasionally? I'll be doing that, too. Mostly, it's just fieldwork that will keep me away from home, but . . ." 

"All right!" I held up my hands in defeat. "I'll do it. After all, I did agree to." 

Faowri kept walking, down the corridor and into the main hall, where we were both met with Manchi arriving on our floor from the left staircase, and a loud knock at the door. My companion fastened her cloak hastily with one hand and flung the other, holding the signed document, at the startled servant. 

"You know where to take it?" 

"Yes, ma'am." Manchi nodded obediently, and scuttled off to the side door of the manor even as another servant crossed his path to reach the main door. I marvelled at the efficiency of well-trained staff, and blinked as Faowri turned back to me. 

"Kuja, you're no longer a guest here. You're part owner. Ask the servants for anything you need. All the facilities are yours, including", she smiled fondly, "the theatre. Feel free to entertain yourself there." 

I turned and surveyed the extravagance of the mansion, and mentally compared it to the tiny bedroom the Second and I had shared. Quite a difference, in both size and grandeur . . . and it would also offer me the resources I required to complete my task. 

Someone endeavoured to open the door, and I looked beyond the tall, white-haired red mage standing in its frame to the grey morning behind him, where rain drizzled through the dank air and bounced against the pavestones outside. Faowri dispelled my entrancement with the pretty phenomenon by greeting the visitor heartily, and inviting him inside, out of the rain. 

The red mage shook his head briskly. "Not right now, Miss King. I'm going on a field mission, over in Dali, and assumed you would want to come, now that you've decided to keep at this." 

"A field mission?" Faowri nodded eagerly. "Of course." 

"Are you ready yet?" 

"Certainly." She gave her hat one last tweak and turned to me. "I'll . . . see you later, Kuja. I hope." 

Unable to think of anything to say, I nodded weakly, admiring the way the bouncing water droplets created a sprinkling white aura around her as she stepped outside. I opened my mouth, knowing I should say _something_, but the appropriate content eluded me. A tumble of words sat on the tip of my tongue, but refused to budge any further. It had been too fast, she was leaving too soon . . . 

The expression she wore as Manchi bade her farewell for now and closed the door behind her and her mentor lingered on the surface of my mind's eye. She'd been _expecting_ something. Expecting me to say or do something . . . But there was nothing. Nothing I could have said that would have granted us closure. It would only have encouraged a hope for something that was more than likely never going to be attained. 

I clenched my fists at my sides, hating Garland more than ever for burdening me with his misbegotten purpose, for . . . for _inflicting me_ on Faowri. For letting me - and her! - catch a glimpse of something we could never have. One day she would find out what my 'secret agenda' really was, and she would despise me for it. And until I had accomplished at least a part of it, Garland would never leave me alone. 

_It wasn't fair._

"Master Kuja?" 

I half-jumped, barely noticing Manchi's slight emphasis on the word 'Master'. The servant fixed me with a look of surprise. 

"I . . . are you all right, sir?" 

Pressing a finger to my temple, I shook my head. "No, I feel a headache coming on. I think I'm going to take a nap. Please, make sure no one disturbs me?" 

Manchi nodded emphatically, and before he could utter another word to me, I turned on my heel and strode up the stairs towards my room in the guest wing. It had already been prepared, and I flopped onto the freshly made bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. 

I hadn't expected her to leave quite so soon . . . Ah well, it was probably for the best. Now I could get on with what I had to do. 

Almost directly following that thought, I felt some of the pressure on my mind lift a little, like the unblocking of an airway. Combined with the shuffling that was coming from the roof, I knew instantly what had happened. Hurriedly, I rolled off the bed, swerving around the low table to swing open the balcony doors. 

The silver dragon was perched on the lip of the roof, peering down at me. Suppressing a mixture of anger and relief, I folded my arms and glared at it. "Back now, hmm?" 

It tilted its head at me, eyes whirling. _"Indeed. You did not feel quite so aggressive when I tested your temper."_

"Well, perhaps I don't need you anymore. Did you think of _that_, by any chance? Hmph, running off and leaving me at a crucial moment . . ." 

_"If you truly don't want me around any longer, I will leave,"_ the dragon snorted, extending its wings with great dignity. Affecting unconcern, I folded my arms after delicately running a finger the length of my feathery fringe. 

"I _suppose_ you have some use still," I smiled coyly, at which the silver dragon gave a mental rumble of high amusement, plunging its long neck forward to the balcony. 

_"Isn't it time to return?"_

"Soon enough. I just need to ensure that the servants know what they are doing, and we can leave and get on with our real task." Extending a hand to its head, I ruffled the crimson feathers near its ears, unable to suppress a regretful sigh. The dragon clearly caught it, and its implications, for it released a comforting ripple of sound and breath that sent my silvery hair fluttering back from my face. Putting my pretences aside, I leaned into the creature's bestial head and wrapped my arms around its bulk. I focused all of my being on replacing my disappointment at the unfair situation with the desire for revenge on Garland, and the taste of the renewed priority was bittersweet; it bore a flavour I had almost forgotten, one of justice and potential happiness. 

I wanted those things. My determination to get them reached new heights as I released the silver dragon's head and gestured for it to retreat to the rooftop again. It was time to go back to where things would really begin. 

"I'll be back momentarily," I assured it, and turned from the balcony, quickening my step to ensure that my words would be no lie. 

**End of Act 3**


End file.
